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MAURICE TIERNAY 


Cl)c ^olDtcr of (fortune. 


BY 

CHARLES LEYER. 


ILLUSTRATED BY E. VAN MUYDEN. 





BOSTON: 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 

1901. 



Copyright , 1894, 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 

>04 





• I « 

4 « 


University Press: 

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A 


NOTICE. 


The strangeness of some of the incidents, and the 
rapidity with which events so remarkable succeeded 
each other, almost deterred the writer from ever com- 
mitting them to the press ; nor was it till after much 
consultation and some persuasive influence on the part 
of friends that he at length yielded, and decided upon 
so doing. Whether in that determination his choice 
was a wise one, must he left to the judgment of the 
reader: for himself he has but to say, that to ponder 
over some of these early scenes, and turn over in 
thought some of his youthful passages, has solaced 
many a weary hour of an age when men make few new 
friendships, and have almost as few opportunities to 
cultivate old ones. 

That the chief events related in these pages — such, 
for instance, as every detail of the French invasion, the 
capture of Wolfe Tone, and the attack on Monte di 
Faccio — are rigidly exact, the writer is most sincere in 
the expression of his conviction ; for the truth of inci- 
dent purely personal it is needless to press any claim, 
seeing that he was this hero — owns no higher name 
than that of a Soldier of Fortune. 






CONTENTS, 


Ehapteb Page 

I. “The Days of the Guillotine ** 1 

II. The Restaurant il au Scelerat ” 22 

III. The “ Temple ” 36 

IV. “The Night of the Ninth Thermidor ” . . 47 

V. The Choice of a Life 55 

VI. “ The Army Sixty Years Since ” 64 

VII. A Passing Acquaintance 81 

VIII. “ Tronchon ” 88 

IX. A Scrape and its Consequences 94 

X. An Aristocratic Republican 109 

XI. “The Passage of the Rhine ” 115 

XII. “A Glance at Staff Duty” 128 

XIII. A Farewell Letter 138 

XIV. A Surprise and an Escape 146 

XV. Scraps of History 155 

XVI. “An Old General of the Irish Brigade ” . 161 

XVII. La Rochelle 171 

XVIII. “ The Bay of Rathfran ” 180 

XIX. A “Reconnaissance” 192 

XX. Killala 200 

XXI. Our Allies 209 

XXII. The Day of “Castlebar” 217 

XXIII. “ The Town-Major of Castlebar ” . . . . 229 

XXIV. “ The Mission to the North ” 239 

XXV. A Passing Visit to Killala 250 

XXVI. A Remnant of “ Fontenoy ” 258 

XXVII ‘‘The Cranach” 272 


yiii CONTENTS. 

Chaptkb Page 

XXVIII. Some New Acquaintances 279 

XXIX. “The Breakfast at Letterkenny ” . . . 288 

XXX. Scene in the Royal Barracks 293 

XXXI. A Brief Change of Life and Country . 301 

XXXII. “The Athol Tender” 320 

XXXIII. A Bold Stroke for Fame and Fortune . 333 

XXXIV. “ Genoa in the Siege ” 340 

XXXV. A Novel Council of War 348 

XXXVI. Genoa during the Siege 359 

XXXVII. Monte di Faccio 368 

XXXVIII. A Royalist “de la Vieille Roche” ... 375 

XXXIX. “A Sorrowful Parting” 388 

XL. “ The Chateau of Ettenheim ” 399 

XLI. An “Ordinary” Acquaintance 410 

XLII. The “Count de Maurepas,” alias . . 425 

XLIII. A Forest Ride 434 

XLIV. An Episode of ’94 455 

XLV. The Cabinet of a Chef-de-Police . . • 467 

XL VI. A Glance at the “ Prefecture de Police” 474 
XL VII. “ The Village of Schwartz-Ach ”... 481 

XLVIII. “ A Village Syndicus ” 489 

XLIX. “ A Lucky Meeting ” 501 

L. The March on Vienna 508 

LI. “ Schonbrunn ” in 1809 525 

LIT. “Komorn Forty Years Ago” 534 

LIII. A Loss and a Gain 541 

LIV. Maurice Tiernay’s “ Last Word and 

Confession ” 550 


ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. VAN MUYDEN. 


lEtdjtmjs. 

The Guillotine Frontispiece 

“ The Confusion was tremendous ” 77 

Maurice and General Massena 342 

Maurice Tiernay and Napoleon 524 











MAURICE TIERNAY, 

THE SOLDIER OP FORTUNE. 


CHAPTER I. 

44 THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE.” 

Neither the tastes nor the temper of the age we live in are 
such as to induce any man to boast of his family nobility. 
We see too many preparations around us for laying down 
new foundations, to think it a suitable occasion for alluding 
to the ancient edifice. I will, therefore, confine myself to 
saying, that I am not to be regarded as a mere pretender 
because my name is not chronicled by Burke or Debrett. 
My great-grandfather, after whom I am called, served on the 
personal staff of King James at the Battle of the Boyne, and 
was one of the few who accompanied the monarch on his 
flight from the field, for which act of devotion he was created 
a peer of Ireland, by the style and title of Timmahoo, — Lord 
Tiernay of Timmahoo the family called it ; and a very rich- 
sounding and pleasant designation has it always seemed 
to me. 

The events of the time, the scanty intervals of leisure 
enjoyed by the king, and other matters, prevented a due 
registry of my ancestor’s claims ; and, in fact, when more 
peaceable days succeeded, it was judged prudent to say noth- 
ing about a matter which might revive unhappy recollections 
and open old scores, seeing that there was now another king 
on the throne 44 who knew not Joseph ; ” and so, for this rea- 
son and many others, my great-grandfather went back to his 
old appellation of Maurice Tiernay, and was only a lord 
among his intimate friends and cronies of the neighborhood. 

1 


2 


MAURICE TIERNEY. 


That I am simply recording a matter of fact, the patent 
of my ancestor’s nobility, now in my possession, will suffi- 
ciently attest ; nor is its existence the less conclusive that it 
is inscribed on the back of his commission as a captain in 
the Shanabogue Fencibles, — the well-known “ Clear- the- 
way-boys ; ” a proud title, it is said, to which they imparted 
a new reading at the memorable battle afore-mentioned. 

The document bears the address of a small public-house 
called the Nest, on the Kells road, and contains in one corner 
a somewhat lengthy score for potables, suggesting the notion 
that his Majesty sympathized with vulgar infirmities, and 
found, as the old song says, “ that grief and sorrow are 
dry.” 

The prudence which for some years sealed my grand- 
father’s lips lapsed, after a time, into a careless and even 
boastful spirit, in which he would allude to his rank in the 
peerage, the place he ought to be holding, and so on ; till at 
last some of the Government people, doubtless taking a 
liking to the snug house and demesne of Timmahoo, de- 
nounced him as a rebel, — on which he was arrested and 
thrown into jail, where he lingered for many years, and only 
came out at last to find his estate confiscated and himself a 
beggar. 

There was a small gathering of Jacobites in one of the 
towns of Flanders, and thither he repaired ; but how he lived, 
or how he died, I never learned. I only know that his son 
wandered away to the east of Europe, and took service in 
what was called Trenck’s Pandours, — as jolly a set of rob- 
bers as ever stalked the map of Europe, from one side to the 
other. This was my grandfather, whose name is mentioned 
in various chronicles of that estimable corps, and who was 
hanged at Prague afterwards for an attempt to carry off an 
archduchess of the empire, — to whom, by the way, there is 
good reason to believe he was privately married. This sus- 
picion was strengthened by the fact that his infant child 
Joseph was at once adopted by the imperial family, and 
placed as a pupil jin the great military school of Vienna. 
From thence he obtained a commission in the Maria Theresa 
Hussars, and subsequently, being sent on a private mission 
to France, entered the service of Louis XVI., w T here he mar- 


THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE . 1 


3 


ried a lady of the Queen’s household, — a Mademoiselle de 
la Lasterie, — of high rank and some fortune ; and with 
whom he lived happily till the dreadful events of 1 7 — , when 
she lost her life beside my father, then fighting as a Garde 
du Corps, on the staircase at Versailles. How he himself 
escaped on that day, and what were the next features in his 
history, I never knew ; but when again we heard of him, he 
was married to the widow of a celebrated orator of the Moun- 
tain, and he himself an intimate friend of St. Just and Marat 
and all the most violent of the Republicans. 

My father’s history about this period is involved in such 
obscurity, and his second marriage followed so rapidly on the 
death of his first wife, that, strange as it may seem, I never 
knew which of the two was my mother, — the lineal descend- 
ant of a house noble before the Crusades, or the humble bour- 
geoise of the Quartier St. Denis. What peculiar line of 
political action my father followed I am unable to say, nor 
whether he was suspected with or without due cause ; but 
suspected he certainly was, and at a time when suspicion 
was all-sufficient for conviction. He was arrested, and thrown 
into the Temple, where I remember I used to visit him every 
week; and whence I accompanied him one morning, as he 
was led forth with a string of others, to the Place de la Greve 
to be guillotined. I believe he w'as accused of royalism ; and 
I know that a white cockade was found among his effects, 
and in mockery was fastened on his shoulder on the day of 
his execution. This emblem, deep dyed with blood and still 
dripping, was taken up by a bystander and pinned on my 
cap, with the savage observation, “ Voila! it is the proper 
color; see that you profit by the way it became so.” As, 
with a bursting heart and a head wild with terror, I turned 
to find my way homeward, I felt my hand grasped by'another. 
I looked up, and saw an old man, whose threadbare black 
clothes and emaciated appearance bespoke the priest in the 
times of the Convention. 

“You have no home now, my poor boy,” said he to me ; 
“ come and share mine.” 

I did not ask him why. I seemed to have suddenly become 
reckless as to everything present or future. The terrible 
scene I had witnessed had dried up all the springs of my 


4 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


youthful heart ; and, infant as I was, I was already a sceptic 
as to everything good or generous in human nature. I 
followed him, therefore, without a word, and we walked on, 
leaving the thoroughfares and seeking the less frequented 
streets, till we arrived in what seemed a suburban part of 
Paris, — at least the houses were surrounded with trees and 
shrubs ; and at a distance I could see the hill of Montmartre 
and its windmills, objects well known to me by many a 
Sunday visit. 

Even after my own home, the poverty of the Pere Michel’s 
household was most remarkable. He had but one small room, 
of which a miserable settle-bed, two chairs, and a table con- 
stituted all the furniture ; there was no fireplace, a little pan 
for charcoal supplying the only means for warmth or cookery ; 
a crucifix and a few colored prints of saints decorated the 
whitewashed walls, and with a string of wooden beads, a 
cloth skull-cap, and a bracket with two or three books, made 
up the whole inventory of his possessions ; and yet, as he 
closed the door behind him and drew me towards him to 
kiss my cheek, the tears glistened in his eyes with gratitude 
as he said, — 

u Now, my dear Maurice, you are at home.” 

“ How do you know that I am called Maurice? ” said I, in 
astonishment. 

“ Because I was an old friend of your poor father, my 
child. We came from the same country ; we held the same 
faith, had the same hopes, and may one day yet, perhaps, 
have the same fate.” 

He told me that the closest friendship had bound them 
together for years past, and in proof of it showed me a 
variety of papers which my father had entrusted to his 
keeping, — well aware, as it would seem, of the insecurity of 
his own life. 

“He charged me to take you home with me, Maurice, 
should the day come when this might come to pass. You 
will now live with me, and I will be your father, so far, at 
least, as humble means will suffer me.” 

I was too young to know how deep my debt of gratitude 
ought to be. I had not tasted the sorrows of utter desertion, 
nor did I know from what a hurricane of blood and anarchy 


“THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE.” 


5 


Fortune had rescued me ; stiU I accepted the P&re’s benevo- 
lent offer with a thankful heart, and turned to him at once 
as to all that was left to me in the world. 

All this time, it may be wondered how I neither spoke* nor 
thought of my mother, if she were indeed such; but for 
several weeks before my father’s death I had never seen her, 
nor did he ever once allude to her. The reserve thus imposed 
upon me remained still, and I felt as though it would have 
been like a treachery to his memory were I now to speak of 
her whom in his lifetime I had not dared to mention. 

The P&re lost no time in diverting my mind from the 
dreadful events I had so lately witnessed. The next morn- 
ing, soon after daybreak, I was summoned to attend him to 
the little church of St. Blois, where he said mass. It was a 
very humble little edifice, which once had been the private 
chapel of a cMteau, and stood in a weed-grown, neglected 
garden, where broken statues and smashed fountains bore 
evidence of the visits of the destroyer. A rude effigy of St. 
Blois, upon whom some profane hand had stuck a Phrygian 
cap of liberty, and which none were bold enough to displace, 
stood over the doorway ; except this, not a vestige of orna- 
ment or decoration existed. The altar, covered with a white 
cloth, displayed none of the accustomed emblems ; and 
a rude crucifix of oak was the only symbol of the faith 
remaining. 

Small as was the building, it was even too spacious for the 
few who came to worship. The terror which prevailed on 
every side — the dread that devotion to religion should be 
construed into an adherence to the monarchy, that submis- 
sion to God should be interpreted as an act of rebellion 
against the sovereignty of human will — had gradually 
thinned the numbers, till at last the few who came were only 
those whose afflictions had steeled them against any re- 
verses, and who were ready martyrs to whatever might 
betide them. These were almost exclusively women, — the 
mothers and wives of those who had sealed their faith with 
their blood in the terrible Place de la Greve. Among them 
was one whose dress and appearance, although not different 
from the rest, always created a movement of respect as she 
passed in or out of the chapel. She was a very old lady, 


6 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


with hair white as snow, and who led by the hand a little 
girl of about my own age, — her large dark eyes and bril- 
liant complexion giving her a look of unearthly beauty in 
that assemblage of furrowed cheeks, and eyes long dimmed 
by weeping. It was not alone that her features were beau- 
tifully regular, or that their lines were fashioned in the very 
perfection of symmetry, but there was a certain character 
in the expression of the face so different from all around 
it as to be almost electrical in effect. Untouched by the 
terrible calamities that weighed on every heart, she seemed, 
in the glad buoyancy of her youth, to be at once above the 
very reach of sorrow, — like one who bore a charmed fate, 
and whom Fortune had exempted from all the trials of this 
life. So at least did I read those features, as they beamed 
upon me in such a contrast to the almost stern character of 
the sad and sorrow-struck faces of the rest. 

It was a part of my duty to place a footstool each morning 
for the “Marquise,” as she was distinctively called, and on 
these occasions it was that I used to gaze upon that little 
girl’s face with a kind of admiring wonder that lingered in 
my heart for hours after. The bold look with which she 
met mine, if it at first half abashed, at length encouraged 
me ; and as I stole noiselessly away, I used to feel as though 
I carried with me some portion of that high hope which 
bounded within her own heart. Strange magnetism! it 
seemed as though her spirit whispered to me not to be 
down-hearted or depressed, that the sorrows of life came 
and went as shadows pass over the earth, that the season 
of mourning was fast passing, and that for us the world 
would wear a brighter and more glorious aspect. 

Such were the thoughts her dark eyes revealed to me, and 
such the hopes I caught up from her proud features. 

It is easy to color a life of monotony ; any hue may soon 
tinge the outer surface, and thus mine speedily assumed a 
hopeful cast, not the less decided that the distance was lost 
in vague uncertainty. The nature of my studies — and the 
Pere kept me rigidly to the desk — offered little to the dis- 
cursiveness of fancy. The rudiments of Greek and Latin, 
the lives of saints and martyrs, the litanies of the Church, 
the invocations peculiar to certain holy days, chiefly filled 


“THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE.” 7 

up my time when not sharing those menial offices which our 
poverty exacted from our own hands. 

Our life was of the very simplest. Except a cup of coffee 
each morning at daybreak, we took but one meal ; our drink 
was always water. By what means even the humble fare 
we enjoyed was procured I never knew, for I never saw 
money in the Pere’s possession, nor did he ever appear to 
buy anything. 

For about two hours in the week I used to enjoy entire 
liberty, as the Pere was accustomed every Saturday to visit 
certain persons of his flock who were too infirm to go abroad. 
On these occasions he would leave me with some thoughtful 
injunction about reflection or pious meditation, perhaps sug- 
gesting for my amusement the life of St. Vincent de Paul, 
or some other of those adventurous spirits whose missions 
among the Indians are so replete with heroic struggles, but 
still with free permission for me to walk out at large and 
enjoy myself as I liked best. We lived so near the outer 
boulevard that I could already see the open country from 
our windows ; but fair and enticing as seemed the sunny 
slopes of Montmartre, bright as glanced the young leaves of 
spring in the gardens at its foot, I ever turned my steps 
into the crowded city, and sought the thoroughfares where 
the great human tide rolled fullest. 

There were certain spots which held a kind of supernatural 
influence over me ; one of these was the Temple, another was 
the Place de la Greve. The window at which my father used 
to sit, from which as a kind of signal I have so often seen 
his red kerchief floating, I never could pass now without 
stopping to gaze at, — now, thinking of him who had been 
its inmate ; now, wondering who might be its present occu- 
pant. It needed not the onward current of population that 
each Saturday bore along, to carry me to the Place de la 
Greve. It was the great day of the guillotine, and as many 
as two hundred were often led out to execution. Although 
the spectacle had now lost every charm of excitement to the 
population from its frequency, it had become a kind of 
necessity to them existence, and the sight of blood alone 
seemed to slake that feverish thirst for vengeance which no 
sufferings appeared capable of satiating. It was rare, how- 


8 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


ever, when some great and distinguished criminal did not 
absorb all the interest of the scene. It was at that period 
when the fierce tyrants of the Convention had turned upon 
each other, and sought, by denouncing those who had been 
their bosom friends, to seal their new allegiance to the people. 
There was something demoniacal in the exultation with 
which the mob witnessed the fate of those whom, but a few 
weeks back, they had acknowledged as their guides and 
teachers. The uncertainty of human greatness appeared the 
most glorious recompense to those whose station debarred 
them from all the enjoyments of power ; and they stood by 
the death-agonies of their former friends with a fiendish joy 
that all the sufferings of their enemies had never yielded. 

To me the spectacle had all the fascination that scenes of 
horror exercise over the mind of youth. I knew nothing of 
the terrible conflict, nothing of the fierce passions enlisted 
in the struggle, nothing of the sacred names so basely pol- 
luted, nothing of that remorseless vengeance with which the 
low-born and degraded were still hounded on to slaughter. 
It was a solemn and a fearful sight, but it was no more ; and 
I gazed upon every detail of the scene with an interest that 
never wandered from the spot whereon it was enacted. If 
the parade of soldiers, of horse, foot, and artillery, gave these 
scenes a character of public justice, the horrible mobs who 
chanted ribald songs and danced around the guillotine sug- 
gested the notion of popular vengeance ; so that I was lost 
in all my attempts to reconcile the reasons of these execu- 
tions with the circumstances that accompanied them. 

Not daring to inform the Pere Michel of where I had 
been, I could not ask him for any explanation ; and thus was 
I left to pick up from the scattered phrases of the crowd 
what was the guilt alleged against the criminals. In many 
cases the simple word Chouan , of which I knew not the 
import, was all I heard ; in others jeering allusions to former 
rank and station would be uttered ; while against some the 
taunt would imply that they had shed tears over others who 
fell as enemies of the people, and that such sympathy was a 
costly pleasure to be paid for but with a life’s-blood. Such 
entire possession of me had these awful sights taken, that I 
lived in a continual dream of them. The sound of every 


THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE.' 


9 


cart-wheel recalled the dull rumble of the hurdle, every dis- 
tant sound seemed like the far-off hum of the coming multi- 
tude, every sudden noise suggested the clanking drop of the 
guillotine ! My sleep had no other images, and I wandered 
about my little round of duties pondering over this terrible 
theme. 

Had I been less occupied with my own thoughts, I must 
have seen that the Pere Michel was suffering under some 
great calamity. The poor priest became wasted to a shadow ; 
for entire days long he would taste of nothing ; sometimes 
he would be absent from early morning to late at night, and 
when he did return, instead of betaking himself to rest, he 
would drop down before the crucifix in an agony of prayer, 
and thus spend more than half the night. Often and often 
have I, when feigning sleep, followed him as he recited the 
litanies of the breviary, adding my own unuttered prayers 
to his, and beseeching for a mercy whose object I knew 
not. 

For some time his little chapel had been closed by the 
authorities, — a heavy padlock and two massive seals being 
placed upon the door, and a notice in a vulgar handwriting 
appended, to the effect that it was by the order of the Com- 
missary of the Department. Could this be the source of 
the Pere’s sorrow, or did not his affliction seem too great 
for such a cause, were questions I asked myself again and 
again. 

In this state were matters, when one morning, it was a 
Saturday, the Pere enjoined me to spend the day in prayer, 
reciting particularly the liturgies for the dead, and all those 
sacred offices for those who have just departed this life. 

41 Pray unceasingly, my dear child, — pray with your whole 
heart, as though it were for one you loved best in the world. 
I shall not return, perhaps, till late to-night ; but I will kiss 
you then, and to-morrow we shall go into the woods 
together.” 

The tears fell from his cheek to mine as he said this, and 
his damp hand trembled as he pressed my fingers. My heart 
was full to bursting at his emotion, and I resolved faithfully 
to do his bidding. To watch him as he went, I opened the 
sash ; and as I did so, the sound of a distant drum, the well- 


10 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


known muffled roll, floated on the air, and I remembered it 
was the day of the guillotine, — that day in which my fever- 
ish spirit turned, as it were in relief, to the reality of blood. 
Remote as was the part of the city we lived in, I could still 
mark the hastening steps of the foot-passengers, as they lis- 
tened to the far-off summons, and see the tide was setting 
towards the fatal Place de la Greve. It was a lowering, 
heavy morning, overcast with clouds, and on its loaded 
atmosphere sounds moved slowly and indistinctly; yet I 
could trace through all the din of the great city, the inces- 
sant roll of the drums, and the loud shouts that burst forth 
from time to time from some great multitude. 

Forgetting everything save my intense passion for scenes 
of terror, I hastened down the stairs into the street, and at 
the top of my speed hurried to the place of execution. As 
I went along, the crowded streets and thronged avenues told 
of some event of more than common interest; and in the 
words which fell from those around me, I could trace that 
some deep Royalist plot had just been discovered, and that 
the conspirators would all on that day be executed. Whether 
it was that the frequent sight of blood was beginning to pall 
upon the popular appetite, or that these wholesale massacres 
interested less than the sight of individual suffering, I know 
not; but certainly there was less of exultation, less of 
triumphant scorn in the tone of the speakers. They talked 
of the coming event as of a common occurrence, which, from 
mere repetition, was gradually losing interest. 

“ I thought we had done with these Chouans,” said a man 
in a blouse, with a paper cap on his head. “ Pardie! they 
must have been more numerous than we ever suspected.” 

“ That they were, citoyen ,” said a haggard-looking fellow, 
whose features showed the signs of recent strife ; “ they were 
the millions who gorged and fed upon us for centuries, who 
sipped the red grape of Bordeaux while you and I drank the 
water of the Seine.” 

“ Well, their time is come now,” cried a third. 

“ And when will ours come? ” asked a fresh-looking, dark- 
eyed girl, whose dress bespoke her trade as a flower-girl; 
“ or do you call this cur time, my masters, when Paris has 
no more pleasant sight than blood, nor any music save the 


“THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE. 


11 


ga ira , that drowns the cries at the guillotine? Is this our 
time, when we have lost those who gave us bread, and got 
in their place only those who would feed us with carnage ? ” 

‘ ‘ Down with her ! down with the Chouane ! a has la 
Royaliste ! ” cried the pale-faced fellow ; and he struck the 
girl with his fist upon the face, and left it covered with 
blood. 

“ To the Lantern with her! to the Seine!” shouted sev- 
eral voices ; and now, rudely seizing her by the shoulders, 
the mob seemed bent upon sudden vengeance ; while the 
poor girl, letting fall her basket, begged with clasped hands 
for mercy. 

“ See here, see here, comrades,” cried a fellow, stooping 
down among the flowers, “ she is a Royalist: here are lilies 
hid beneath the rest.” 

What sad consequences this discovery might have led to 
there is no knowing, when suddenly a violent rush of the 
crowd toned every thought into a different direction. It 
was caused by a movement of the Gendarmerie a cheval , who 
were clearing the way for the approaching procession. I had 
just time to place the poor girl’s basket in her hands, as the 
onward impulse of the dense mob carried me forward. I saw 
her no more. A flower — I know not . how it came there — 
was in my bosom ; and seeing that it was a lily, I placed it 
within my cap for concealment. 

The hoarse clangor of the bassoons — the only instruments 
which played during the march — now told that the proces- 
sion was approaching ; and then I could see, above the heads 
of the multitude, the leopard-skin helmets of the dragoons, 
who led the way. Save this I could see nothing, as I was 
borne along in the vast torrent towards the place of execu- 
tion. Slowly as we moved, our progress was far more rapid 
than that of the procession, which was often obliged to halt 
from the density of the mob in front. We arrived, there- 
fore, at the Place a considerable time before it ; and now I 
found myself beside the massive wooden railing placed to 
keep off the crowd from the space around the guillotine. 

It was the first time I had ever stood so close to the fatal 
spot, and my eyes devoured every detail with the most 
searching intensity, — the colossal guillotine itself, painted 


12 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


red, and with its massive axe suspended aloft ; the terrible 
basket, half filled with sawdust, beneath ; the coarse table, 
on which a rude jar and a cup were placed ; and, more dis- 
gusting than all, the lounging group, who, with their news- 
papers in hand, seemed from time to time to watch if the 
procession were approaching. They sat beneath a misshapen 
statue of wood, painted red like the guillotine. This was 
the goddess of Liberty. I climbed one of the pillars of the 
paling, and could now see the great cart, which, like a boat 
upon wheels, came slowly along, dragged by six horses. It 
was crowded with people, so closely packed that they could 
not move them bodies, and only waved their hands, which 
they did incessantly. They seemed, too, as if they were 
singing ; but the deep growl of the bassoons, and the fierce 
howlings of the mob drowned all other sounds. As the cart 
came nearer, I could distinguish the faces, amid which were 
those of age and youth, — men and women, bold-visaged boys 
and fair girls, — some whose air bespoke the very highest 
station, and beside them the hardy peasant, apparently more 
amazed than terrified at all he saw around him. On they 
came, the great cart surging heavily, like a bark in a stormy 
sea ; and now it cleft the dense ocean that filled the place, 
and I could descry the lineaments wherein the stiffened lines 
of death were already marked. Had any touch of pity still 
lingered in that dense crowd, there might well have been 
some show of compassion for the sad convoy, whose faces 
grew ghastly with terror as they drew near the horrible 
engine. 

Down the furrowed cheek of age the heavy tears coursed 
freely, and sobs and broken prayers burst forth from hearts 
that until now had beat high and proudly. 

“ There is the Due d’Angeac,” cried a fellow, pointing to 
a venerable old man, who was seated at the comer of the 
cart, with an air of calm dignity ; “I know him well, for I 
was his perruquier.” 

“His hair must be content with sawdust this morning, 
instead of powder,” said another ; and a rude laugh followed 
the ruffian jest. 

u See ! mark that woman with the long dark hair, — that is 
La Bretonville, the actress of the St. Martin.” 


THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE . 3 


13 


“I have often seen her represent terror far more natur- 
ally,” cried a fashionably-dressed man, as he stared at the 
victim through his opera-glass. 

“Bah!” replied his friend, “she despises her audience, 
voila tout. Look, Henri, if that little girl beside her be not 
Lucille, of the Pantheon.” 

“ Parbleu ! so it is. Why, they ’ll not leave a pirouette in 
the Grand Opera. Pauvre petite , what had you to do with 
politics ? ” 

“ Her little feet ought to have saved her head any day.” 

“ See how grim that old lady beside her looks ; I ’d swear 
she is more shocked at the company she ’s thrown into than 
the fate that awaits her. I never saw a ^glance of prouder 
disdain than she had just bestowed on poor Lucille.” 

“That is the old Marquise D’Estelle, the very essence 
of our old nobility. They used to talk of their mesalli- 
ance with the Bourbons as the first misfortune of their 
house.” 

“ Pardie! they have lived to learn deeper sorrows.” 

I had by this time discovered her they were speaking of, 
whom I recognized at once as the old Marquise of the Chapel 
of St. Blois. My hands nearly gave up their grasp as I 
gazed on those features which so often I had seen fixed in 
prayer, and which now — a thought paler, perhaps — wore 
the self-same calm expression. With what intense agony I 
peered into the mass, to see if the little girl, her grand- 
daughter, were with her; and oh the deep relief I felt as 
I saw nothing but strange faces on every side ! It was 
terrible to feel, as my eyes ranged over that vast mass, 
where grief and despair and heart-sinking terror were 
depicted, that I should experience a spirit of joy and thank- 
fulness ; and yet I did so, and with my lips I uttered my 
gratitude that she was spared! But I had not time for 
many reflections like this ; already the terrible business of 
the day had begun, and the prisoners were now descending 
from the cart, ranging themselves, as their names were 
called, in a line below the scaffold. With a few exceptions, 
they took their places in all the calm of seeming indifference. 
Death had long familiarized itself to their minds in a thou- 
sand shapes. Day by day they had seen the vacant places 


14 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


left by those led out to die, and if their sorrows had not 
rendered them careless of life, the world itself had grown 
distasteful to them. In some cases a spirit of proud scorn 
was manifested to the very last ; and, strange inconsistency 
of human nature ! the very men whose licentiousness and 
frivolity first evoked the terrible storm of popular fury were 
the first to display the most chivalrous courage in the terrible 
face of the guillotine. Beautiful women, too, in all the pride 
of their loveliness, met the inhuman stare of that mob un- 
dismayed. Nor were these traits without their fruits. This 
noble spirit, this triumphant victory of the well-born and 
the great, was a continual insult to the populace, who saw 
themselves defrauded of half their promised vengeance ; 
and they learned that they might kill, but they could never 
humiliate them. In vain they dipped their hands in the 
red life-blood, and, holding up them dripping fingers, asked, 
44 How did it differ from that of the people?” Their hearts 
gave the lie to the taunt; for they witnessed instances of 
heroism, from gray hairs and tender womanhood, that 
would have shamed the proudest deeds of their new-born 
chivalry ! 

44 Charles Gregoire Courcelles! ” shouted out a deep voice 
from the scaffold. 

44 That is my name,” said a venerable looking old gentle- 
man, as he arose from his seat, adding, with a placid smile, 
44 but for half a century my friends have called me the Due 
de Riancourt.” 

“We have no dukes nor marquises ; we know of no titles 
in France,” replied the functionary. 44 All men are equal 
before the law.” 

“If it were so, my friend, you and I might change places ; 
for you were my steward, and plundered my cMteau.” 

4 4 Down with the Royalist ! away with the aristocrat ! ” 
shouted a number of voices from the crowd. 

44 Be a little patient, good people,” said the old man, as 
he ascended the steps with some difficulty ; 44 1 was wounded 
in Canada, and have never yet recovered. I shall probably 
be better a few minutes hence.” 

There was something of half simplicity in the careless way 
the words were uttered that hushed the multitude, and 


“THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE.” 


15 


already some expressions of sympathy were heard ; but as 
quickly the ribald insults of the hired ruffians of the Con- 
vention drowned these sounds, and “ Down with the Roy- 
alist ” resounded on every side, while two officials assisted 
him to remove his stock and bare his throat. The Commis- 
sary, advancing to the edge of the platform, and, as it were, 
addressing the people, read in a hurried, slurring kind of 
voice something that purported to be the ground of the 
condemnation. But of this not a word could be heard. 
None cared to hear the ten-thousand- time told tale of sus- 
pected Royalism, nor would listen to the high-sounding 
declamation that proclaimed the virtuous zeal of the Govern- 
ment, their untiring energy, their glorious persistence in the 
cause of the people. The last words were as usual responded 
to with an echoing shout, and the cry of “ Vive la Hepub- 
lique ” rose from the great multitude. 

“ Vive le Hoi!” cried the old man, with a voice heard 
high above the clamor ; but the words were scarce out when 
the lips that muttered them were closed in death ; so sudden 
was the act, that a cry burst forth from the mob, but whether 
in reprobation or in ecstasy I knew not. 

I will not follow the sad catalogue, wherein nobles and 
peasants, priests, soldiers, actors, men of obscure fortune 
and women of lofty station, succeeded each other, occupying 
for a brief minute every eye, and passing away forever. 
Many ascended the platform without a word ; some waved 
a farewell towards a distant quarter, where they suspected a 
friend to be ; others spent their last moments in prayer, and 
died in the very act of supplication. All bore themselves 
with a noble and proud courage ; and now some five or six 
alone remained of whose fate none seemed to guess the issue, 
since they had been taken from the Temple by some mistake, 
and were not included in the list of the Commissary. There 
they sat, at the foot of the scaffold, speechless and stupefied ; 
they looked as though it were matter of indifference to which 
side their steps should turn, — to the jail or the guillotine. 
Among these was the Marquise, who alone preserved her 
proud self-possession, and sat in all her accustomed dignity ; 
while close beside her an angry controversy was maintained 
as to their future destiny, — the Commissary firmly refusing 


16 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


to receive them for execution, and the Delegate of the 
Temple, as he was styled, as flatly asserting that he would 
not reconduct them to prison. The populace soon grew 
interested in the dispute, and the most violent altercations 
arose among the partisans of each side of the question. 

Meanwhile the Commissary and his assistants prepared to 
depart. Already the massive drapery of red cloth was 
drawn over the guillotine, and every preparation made for 
withdrawing, when the mob, doubtless dissatisfied that they 
should be defrauded of any portion of the entertainment, 
began to climb over the wooden barricades, and, with furious 
cries and shouts, threaten vengeance upon any who would 
screen the enemies of the people. 

The troops resisted the movement, but rather with the air 
of men entreating calmness, than with the spirit of soldiery. 
It was plain to see on which side the true force lay. 

“ If you will not do it, the people will, do it for you,” 
whispered the delegate to the Commissary ; 4 ‘ and who is to 
say where they will stop when their hands once learn the 
trick ! ” 

The Commissary grew lividly pale, and made no reply. 

“See there!” rejoined the other, “they are carrying a 
fellow on their shoulders yonder ; they mean him to be the 
executioner.” 

“But I dare not — I cannot — without my orders.” 

“Are not the people sovereign? Whose will have we 
sworn to obey but theirs ? ” 

“ My own head would be the penalty if I yielded.” 

“ It will be, if you resist ; even now it is too late.” 

And as he spoke he sprang from the scaffold, and disap- 
peared in the dense crowd that already thronged the space 
within the rails. 

By this time the populace were not only masters of the 
area around, but had also gained the scaffold itself, from 
which many of them seemed endeavoring to harangue the 
mob; others contenting themselves with imitating the ges- 
tures of the Commissary and his functionaries. It was a 
scene of the wildest uproar and confusion, — frantic cries and 
screams, ribald songs and fiendish yellings on every side. 
The guillotine was again uncovered, and the great crimson 


THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE . 1 


17 


drapery, torn into fragments, was waved about like flags, or 
twisted into uncouth head-dresses. The Commissary, failing 
in every attempt to restore order peaceably, and either not 
possessing a sufficient force or distrusting the temper of the 
soldiers, descended from the scaffold, and gave the order to 
march. This act of submission was hailed by the mob with 
the most furious yell of triumph. Up to that very moment 
they had never credited the bare possibility of a victory ; and 
now they saw themselves suddenly masters of the field, — 
the troops in all the array of horse and foot, retiring in dis- 
comfiture. Their exultation knew no bounds ; and, doubt- 
less, had there been amongst them those with skill and daring 
to profit by the enthusiasm, the torrent had rushed a longer 
and more terrific course than through the blood-steeped clay 
of the Place de la Greve. 

“ Here is the man we want,” shouted a deep voice. u St. 
Just told us t’ other day that the occasion never failed to 
produce one ; and see, here is Jean Gougon ; and though 
he ’s but two feet high, his fingers can reach the pin of the 
guillotine.” 

And he held aloft on his shoulders a misshapen dwarf, 
who was well-known on the Pont Neuf, where he gained his 
living by singing infamous songs and performing mockeries 
of the service of the mass. A cheer of welcome acknow- 
ledged this speech, to which the dwarf responded by a mock 
benediction, which he bestowed with all the ceremonious 
observance of an archbishop. Shouts of the wildest laughter 
followed this ribaldry, and in a kind of triumph they carried 
him up the steps and deposited him on the scaffold. 

Ascending one of the chairs, the little wretch proceeded 
to address the mob, which he did with all the ease and com- 
posure of a practised public speaker. Not a murmur was 
heard in that tumultuous assemblage, as he, with a most 
admirable imitation of Hebert, then the popular idol, assured 
them that France was at that instant the envy of surround- 
ing nations; and that, bating certain little weaknesses on 
the score of humanity — certain traits of softness and over- 
mercy — her citizens realized all that ever had been said of 
angels. From thence he passed on to a mimicry of Marat, 
of Danton, and of Robespierre, — tearing off his cravat, 

2 


18 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


baring his breast, and performing all the oft-exhibited antics 
of the latter, as he vociferated, in a wild scream, the well- 
known peroration of a speech he had lately made, “If we 
look for a glorious* morrow of freedom, the sun of oui 
slavery must set in blood ! ” 

However amused by the dwarf’s exhibition, a feeling of 
impatience began to manifest itself among the mob, who felt 
that by any longer delay it was possible time would be given 
for fresh troops tp arrive, and the glorious opportunity of 
popular sovereignty be lost in the very hour of victory. 

“To work, to work, Master Gougon! ” shouted hundreds 
of voices; “we cannot spend our day in listening to 
oratory.” 

“You forget, my dear friends,” said he, blandly, “ that 
this is to me a new walk in life. I have much to learn, ere 
I can acquit myself worthily to the Republic.” 

“We have no leisure for preparatory studies, Gougon,” 
cried a fellow below the scaffold. 

“ Let me, then, just begin with monsieur,” said the dwarf, 
pointing to the last speaker, and a shout of laughter closed 
the sentence. 

A brief and angry dispute now arose as to what was to be 
done, and it is more than doubtful how the debate might 
have ended, when Gougon, with a readiness all his own, 
concluded the discussion by saying, — 

“ I have it, citizens, I have it. There is a lady here, who, 
however respectable her family and connections, will leave 
few to mourn her loss. She is, in a manner, public property, 
and if not born on the soil, at least a naturalized French- 
woman. We have done a great deal for her and in her 
name, for some time back, and I am not aware of any 
singular benefit she has rendered us. With your permission, 
then, I ’ll begin with her.” 

“ Name, name — name her ! ” was cried by thousands. 

“ La voila” said he, archly, as he pointed with his thumb 
to the wooden effigy of Liberty above his head. 

The absurdity of the suggestion was more than enough 
for its success. A dozen hands were speedily at work, and 
down came the Goddess of Liberty ! The other details of 
an execution were hurried over with all the speed of prac- 


THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE.” 


19 


tised address, and the figure was placed beneath the drop. 
Down fell the axe, and Gougon, lifting up the wooden head, 
paraded it about the scaffold, crying, — 

“ Behold! an enemy of France! 4 Long live the Repub- 
lic, one and indivisible.’ ” 

Loud and wild were the shouts of laughter from this 
brutal mockery ; and for a time it almost seemed as if the 
ribaldry had turned the mob from the sterner passions of 
their vengeance. This hope, if one there ever cherished it, 
was short-lived ; and again the cry arose for blood. It was 
too plain that no momentary diversion, no passing distrac- 
tion, could withdraw them from that lust for cruelty that 
had now grown into a passion. 

And now a bustle and movement of those around the 
stairs showed that something was in preparation ; and in the 
next moment the old Marquise was led forward between 
two men. 

‘‘Where is the order for this woman’s execution?” asked 
the dwarf, mimicking the style and air of the Commissary. 

“We give it : it is from us ! ” shouted the mob, with one 
savage roar. 

Gougon removed his cap, and bowed a token of obedience. 

“ Let us proceed in order, citizens,” said he, gravely ; “I 
see no priest here.” 

“ Shrive her yourself, Gougon ; few know the mummeries 
better ! ” cried a voice. 

“ Is there not one here can remember a prayer, or even a 
verse of the offices ? ” said Gougon, with a well-affected 
horror in his voice. 

“ l r es, yes, I do,” cried I, my zeal overcoming all sense 
of the mockery in which the words were spoken; “T know 
them all by heart, and can repeat them from ‘ lux beatissima ’ 
down to ‘ hora mortis ; ’ ” and as if to gain credence for my 
self-laudation, I began at once to recite, in the sing-song 
tone of the seminary, — 

“ Salve, mater salvatoris, 

Fons salutis, vas honoris ; 

Scala coeli, porta et via, 

Salve semper, O Maria ! ” 


20 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


It is possible I should have gone on to the very end, if the 
uproarious laughter which rung around had not stopped me. 

“ There ’s a brave youth ! ” cried Gougon, pointing towards 
me, with mock admiration. “If it ever come to pass — as 
what may not in these strange times ? — that we turn to 
priestcraft again, thou shalt be the first archbishop of Paris. 
Who taught thee that famous canticle? ” 

“The Pere Michel,” replied I, in no way conscious of 
the ridicule bestowed upon me, — “the Pere Michel of St. 
Blois.” 

The old lady lifted up her head at these words, and her 
dark eyes rested steadily upon me ; and then, with a sign of 
her hand, she motioned to me to come over to her. 

“Yes; let him come,” said Gougon, as if answering the 
half-reluctant glances of the crowd. And now I was assisted 
to descend, and passed along over the heads of the people, 
till I was placed upon the scaffold. Never can I forget the 
terror of that moment, as I stood within a few feet of the 
terrible guillotine, and saw beside me the horrid basket 
splashed with recent blood. 

“ Look not at these things, child,” said the old lady, as 
she took my hand and drew me towards her, “ but listen to 
me, and mark my words well.” 

“ I will, I will,” cried I, as the hot tears rolled down my 
cheeks. 

“ Tell the Pere — you will see him to-night — tell him that 
I have changed my mind, and resolved upon another course, 
and that he is not to leave Paris. Let them remain. The 
torrent runs too rapidly to last. This cannot endure much 
longer. We shall be among the last victims. You hear me, 
child ? ” 

“ I do, I do,” cried I, sobbing. “ Why is not the P&re 
Michel with you now ? ” 

“ Because he is suing for my pardon, — asking for mercy 
where its very name is a derision. Kneel down beside me, 
and repeat the ‘ angelus.’ ” 

I took off my cap, and knelt down at her feet, reciting, in 
a voice broken by emotion, the words of the prayer. She 
repeated each syllable after me, in a tone full and unshaken ; 
and then stooping, she took up the lily which lay in my cap. 


" THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE.' 


21 


She pressed it to her lips two or three times passionately. 
44 Give it to her; tell her I kissed it at my last moment. 
Tell her — ” 

44 This 4 shrift ’ is beyond endurance. Away, holy father ! ” 
cried Gougon, as he pushed me rudely back, and seized the 
Marquise by the wrist. A faint cry escaped her. I heard 
no more ; for jostled and pushed about by the crowd, I was 
driven to the very rails of the scaffold. Stepping beneath 
these, I mingled with the mob beneath ; and burning with 
eagerness to escape a scene, to have witnessed which would 
almost have made my heart break, I forced my way into the 
dense mass, and by squeezing and creeping succeeded at 
last in penetrating to the verge of the Place. A terrible 
shout, and a rocking motion of the mob like the heavy 
surging of the sea, told me that all was over ; but I never 
looked back to the fatal spot, but having gained the open 
streets, ran at the top of my speed towards home. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE RESTAURANT “ AU SCEUERAT.” 

As I gained the street, at a distance from the Place, I was 
able to increase my speed ; and I did so with an eagerness 
as if the world depended on my haste. At any other time 
I would have bethought me of my disobedience to the Pore’s 
commands, and looked forward to meeting him with shame 
and sorrow ; but now I felt a kind of importance in the 
charge intrusted to me. I regarded my mission as some- 
thing superior to any petty consideration of self, while the 
very proximity in which I had stood to peril and death made 
me seem a hero in my own eyes. 

At last I reached the street where we lived, and, almost 
breathless with exertion, gained the door. What was my 
amazement, however, to find it guarded by a sentry, — a 
large, solemn-looking fellow, with a tattered cocked hat on 
his head, and a pair of worn striped trousers on his legs, who 
cried out, as I appeared, “ Halte Idb?” in a voice that at once 
arrested my steps. 

“Where to, youngster?” said he, in a somewhat melted 
tone, seeing the shock his first words had caused me. 

“ I am going home, sir,” said I, submissively ; “I live at 
the third story, in the apartment of the P&re Michel.” 

“The P&re Michel will live there no longer, my boy; his 
apartment is now in the Temple,” said he, slowly. 

“ In the Temple ! ” said I, whose memory at once recalled 
my father’s fate ; and then, unable to control my feelings, 
I sat down upon the steps and burst into tears. 

“There, there, child, you must not cry thus,” said he; 
“ these are not days when one should weep over misfortunes, 
— they come too fast and too thick on all of us for that. 
The P&re was your tutor, I suppose?” 


THE RESTAURANT “AU SCEU&RAT. 


23 


I nodded. 

“ And your father — where is he? ” 

“ Dead.” 

He made a sign to imitate the guillotine, and I assented 
by another nod. 

“Was he a Royalist, boy ? ” 

“He was an officer in the Garde du Corps,” said I, 
proudly. 

The soldier shook his head mournfully, but with what 
meaning I know not. 

“ And your mother, boy ? ” 

“ I do not know where she is,” said I, again relapsing into 
tears at the thought of my utter desolation. 

The old soldier leaned upon his musket in profound thought, 
and for some time did not utter a word. At last he said, — 

“There is nothing but the Hotel de Ville for you, my 
child. They say that the Republic adopts all the orphans of 
France. What she does with them I cannot tell.” 

“But I can, though,” replied I, fiercely; “the Noyades 
or the Seine are a quick and sure provision ; I saw eighty 
drowned one morning below the Pont Neuf, myself.” 

“That tongue of yours will bring you into trouble, 
youngster,” said he, reprovingly; “ mind that you say not 
such things as these.” 

“ What worse fortune can betide me than to see my father 
die at the guillotine, and my last, my only friend, carried 
away to prison ? ” 

“ You have no care for your own neck, then?” 

“ Why should I — what value has life for me?” 

“Then it will be spared to you,” said he, sententiously ; 
“ mark my words, lad. You need never fear death till you 
begin to love life. Get up, my poor boy ; you must not be 
found there when the relief comes, and that will be soon. 
This is all that I have,” said he, placing three sous in my 
palm, “which will buy a loaf; to-morrow there may be 
better luck in store for you.” 

I shook the rough hand he offered with cordial gratitude, 
and resolved to bear myself as like a man as I could. I 
drew myself up, touched my cap in soldier-like fashion, and 
cried out adieu, and then descending into the street, 


24 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


harried away to hide the tears that were almost suffocating 
me. 

Hour after hour I walked the streets ; the mere act of 
motion seemed to divert my grief ; and it was only when 
foot-sore and weary, that I could march no longer, and my 
sorrows came back in full force, and overwhelmed me in 
their flow. It was less pride or shame than a sense of my 
utter helplessness that prevented me addressing any one of 
the hundreds who passed me. I bethought me of my in- 
ability to do anything for my own support, and it was this 
consciousness that served to weigh me down more than all 
else ; and yet I felt with what devotion I could serve him 
who would but treat me with the kindness he might bestow 
upon his dog ; I fancied with what zeal I could descend to 
very slavery for one word of affection. The streets were 
crowded with people ; groups were gathered here and there, 
either listening to some mob orator of the day, or hearing 
the newspapers read aloud. I tried, by forcing my way into 
the crowd, to feel myself “ one of them,” and to think that 
I had my share of interest in what was going forward, but in 
vain. Of the topics discussed I knew nothing, and of the 
bystanders none even noticed me. High-swelling phrases 
met the ear at every moment, that sounded strangely enough 
to me. They spoke of Fraternity, of that brotherhood which 
linked man to man in close affection ; of Equality, that made 
all sharers in this world’s goods ; of Liberty, that gave 
freedom to every noble aspiration and generous thought; 
and for an instant, carried away by the glorious illusion, I 
even forgot my solitary condition, and felt proud of my 
heritage as a youth of France. I looked around me, how- 
ever, and what faces met my gaze ! — the same fearful 
countenances I had seen around the scaffold ; the wretches, 
blood-stained and influenced by passion, their bloated cheeks 
and strained eye-balls glowing with intemperance ; their oaths, 
their gestures, their very voices having something terrible 
in them. The mockery soon disgusted me, and I moved 
away, again to wander about without object or direction 
through the weary streets. 

It was past midnight when I found myself, without know- 
ing where I was, in a large open space, in the midst of which 


THE RESTAURANT “AU SC^L^RAT. 1 


25 


a solitary lamp was burning. I approached it, and to my 
horror saw that it was the guillotine, over which in mournful 
cadence a lantern swung, creaking its chain as the night 
wind stirred it. The dim outline of the fearful scaffold, the 
fitful light that fell upon the platform, and the silence, — 
all conspired to strike terror into my heart; all I had so 
lately witnessed seemed to rise up again before me, and the 
victims seemed to stand up again, pale and livid and shud- 
dering, as last I saw them. 

I knelt down and tried to pray ; but terror was too power- 
ful to suffer my thoughts to take this direction, and, half- 
fainting with fear and exhaustion, I lay down upon the 
ground and slept, — slept beneath the platform of the guillo- 
tine. Not a dream crossed my slumber, nor did I awake 
till dawn of day, when the low rumbling of the peasants’ 
carts aroused me, as they were proceeding to the market. 
I know not why or whence, but I arose from the damp earth, 
and looked about me with a more daring and courageous 
spirit than I had hitherto felt. It was May ; the first bright 
rays of sunshine were slanting along the Place, and the 
fresh, brisk air felt invigorating and cheering. Whither to ? 
asked I of myself, and my eyes turned from the dense streets 
and thoroughfares of the great city to the far-off hills beyond 
the barrier, and for a moment I hesitated which road to take. 
I almost seemed to feel as if the decision involved my whole 
future fortune, — whether I should live and die in the humble 
condition of a peasant, or play for a great stake in life. 
“ Yes,” said I, after a short hesitation, u I will remain here : 
in the terrible conflict going forward, many must be new 
adventurers, and never was any one more greedy to learn 
the trade than myself. I will throw sorrow behind me. 
Yesterday’s tears are the last I shall shed. Now for a bold 
heart and a ready will, and here goes for the world !” With 
these stout words I placed my cap jauntily on one side of 
my head, and with a fearless air marched off for the very 
centre of the city. 

For some hours I amused myself gazing at the splendid 
shops, or staring in at the richly-decorated cafes, where the 
young celebrities of the day were assembled at breakfast, in 
all the extravagance of the new-fangled costume. Then I 


26 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


followed the guard to the parade at the Carrousel, and lis- 
tened to the band; quitting which I wandered along the 
quays, watching the boats as they dragged the river in search 
of murdered bodies or suicides. Thence I returned to the 
Palais Royal and listened to the news of the day, as read 
out by some elected enlightener of his countrymen. 

By what chance I know not, but at last my rambling steps 
brought me opposite to the great solemn-looking towers of 
the Temple, — the gloomy prison, within whose walls hun- 
dreds were then awaiting the fate which already their friends 
had suffered. Little groups, gathered here and there in the 
open Place, were communicating to the prisoners by signs 
and gestures, and from many a small grated window, at an 
immense height, handkerchiefs were seen to wave in recog- 
nition of those below. These signals seemed to excite 
neither watchfulness nor prevention, — indeed, they needed 
none ; and perhaps the very suspense they excited was a tor- 
ture that pleased the inhuman jailers. Whatever the reason, 
the custom was tolerated, and was apparently enjoyed at 
that moment by several of the turnkeys, who sat at the win- 
dows, much amused at the efforts made to communicate. 
Interested by the sight, I sat down upon a stone bench to 
watch the scene, and fancied that I could read something of 
the rank and condition of those who signalled from below 
their messages of hope or fear. At last a deep bell within 
the prison tolled the hour of noon ; and now every window 
was suddenly deserted. It was the hour for the muster of 
the prisoners, which always took place before the dinner at 
one o’clock. The curious groups soon after broke up. A 
few lingered around the gate, with, perhaps, some hope of 
admission to visit their friends; but the greater number 
departed. 

My hunger was now such that I could no longer deny my- 
self the long-promised meal, and I looked about me for a 
shop where I might buy a loaf of bread. In. my search, I 
suddenly found myself opposite an immense shop, where 
viands of every tempting description were ranged with all 
that artistic skill so purely Parisian, making up a picture 
whose composition Snyders would not have despised. Over 
the door was a painting of a miserable wretch, with hands 


THE RESTAURANT “ AU SC£lERAT. j 


27 


bound behind him, and his hair cut close in the well-known 
crop for the scaffold ; and underneath was written, ‘ 4 Au 
Scelerat ; ” while on a large board, in gilt letters, ran the 
inscription, — * 

“ Boivin Pere et fils, Traiteurs pour MM. les Condamn^es.” 

I could scarcely credit my eyes, as I read and re-read this 
infamous announcement; but there it stood, and in the 
crowd that poured incessantly to and from the door I saw 
the success that attended the traffic. A ragged knot were 
gathered around the window, eagerly gazing at something, 
which, by their exclamations, seemed to claim all their 
admiration. I pressed forward to see what it was, and be- 
held a miniature guillotine, which, turned by a wheel, was 
employed to chop the meat for sausages. This it was that 
formed the great object of attraction, even to those to whom 
the prototype had grown flat and uninteresting. 

Disgusted as I was by this shocking sight, I stood watch- 
ing all that went forward within with a strange interest. It 
was a scene of incessant bustle and movement ; for now, as 
one o’clock drew nigh, various dinners were getting ready 
for the prisoners, while parties of their friends were assem- 
bling inside. Of these latter there seemed persons of every 
rank and condition, — some, dressed in all the brilliancy of 
the mode; others, whose garments bespoke direst poverty. 
There were women, too, whose costume emulated the classic 
drapery of the ancients, and who displayed, in their looped 
togas, no niggard share of their forms ; while others, in 
shabby mourning, sat in obscure corners, not noticing the 
scene before them, nor noticed themselves. A strange equi- 
page, with two horses extravagantly bedizened with rosettes 
and bouquets, stood at the door; and as I looked, a pale, 
haggard-looking man, whose foppery in dress contrasted 
oddly with his care-worn expression, hurried from the shop, 
and sprung into the carriage. In doing so, a pocket-book 
fell from his pocket. I took it up ; but as I did so, the 
carriage was already away, and far beyond my power to 
overtake it. 

Without stopping to examine my prize, or hesitating for a 
second, I entered the restaurant, and asked for M. Boivin. 


28 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


4 4 Give your orders to me, boy,” said a man busily at 
work behind the counter. 

44 My business is with himself,” said I, stoutly. 

44 Then you’ll have to wait with some patience,” said he, 
sneeringly. 

44 1 can do so,” was my answer, and I sat down in the 
shop. 

I might have been half-an-hour thus seated, when an enor- 
mously fat man, with a huge bonnet rouge on his head, 
entered from an inner room, and passing close to where I 
was caught sight of me. 

44 Who are you, sirrah — what brings you here? ” 

44 1 want to speak with M. Boivin.” 

“Then speak,” said he, placing his hand upon his 
immense chest. 

44 It must be alone,” said I. 

44 How so, alone, sirrah? ” said he, growing suddenly pale ; 
“I have no secrets. I know of nothing that may not be 
told before all the world.” 

Though he said this in a kind of appeal to all around, the 
dubious looks and glances interchanged seemed to make him 
far from comfortable. 

44 So you refuse me, then?” said I, taking up my cap, and 
preparing to depart. 

“Come hither,” said he, leading the way into the room 
from which he had emerged. It was a very small chamber, 
the most conspicuous ornaments of which were busts and 
pictures of the various celebrities of the Revolution. Some 
of these latter were framed ostentatiously, and one, occupy- 
ing the post of honor above the chimney, at once attracted 
me ; for in a glance I saw that it was a portrait of him 
who owned the pocket-book, and bore beneath it the name 
44 Robespierre.” 

44 Now, sir, for your communication,” said Boivin ; 44 and 
take care that it is of sufficient importance to warrant the 
interview you have asked for.” 

44 1 have no fears on that score,” said I, calmly, still scan- 
ning the features of the portrait, and satisfying myself of 
their identity. 

44 Look at me, sir, and not at that picture,” said Boivin. 


THE RESTAURANT “AU SC£l£rAT. : 


29 


“And yet it is of M. Robespierre I have to speak,” said 
E, coolly. 

“ How so — of M. Robespierre, boy? What is the mean- 
ing of this ? If it be a snare — if this be a trick, you never 
leave this spot living,” cried he, as he placed a massive hand 
on each of my shoulders and shook me violently. 

u I am not so easily to be terrified, citoyen,” said I ; “ nor 
have I any secret cause for fear, whatever you may have. 
My business is of another kind. This morning, in passing 
out to his carriage, he dropped his pocket-book, which I 
picked up. Its contents may well be of a kind that should 
not be read by other eyes than his own. My request is, 
then, that you will seal it up before me, and then send some 
one along with me, while I restore it to its owner.” 

44 Is this a snare? What secret mischief have we here?” 
said Boivin, half aloud, as he wiped the cold drops of per- 
spiration from his forehead. 

44 Any mishap that follows will depend upon your refusal 
to do what I ask.” 

“How so — I never refused it; you dare not tell M. 
Robespierre that I refused, sirrah?” 

“I will tell him nothing that is untrue,” said I, calmly; 
for already a sense of power had gifted me with composure. 
44 If M. Robespierre — ” 

4 4 Who speaks of me here ? ” cried the identical personage, 
as he dashed hurriedly into the room, and then, not waiting 
for the reply, went on, — 44 You must send out your scouts 
on every side ! I lost my pocket-book as I left this a while 
ago.” 

44 It is here, sir,” said I, presenting it at once. 

44 How — where was it found — in whose keeping has it 
been, boy?” 

44 In mine only; I took it from the ground the same mo- 
ment that you dropped it, and then came here to place it in 
M. Boivin’s hands.” 

44 Who has taken care of it since that time?” continued 
Robespierre, with a slow and sneering accentuation on every 
word. 

4 4 The pocket-book has never left my possession since it 
quitted yours,” was my reply. 


80 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“Just so,” broke in Boivin, now slowly recovering from 
his terror. “Of its contents I know nothing; nor have I 
sought to know anything.” 

Robespierre looked at me as if to corroborate this state- 
ment, and I nodded my head in acquiescence. 

“ Who is your father, boy ? ” 

“ I have none, — he was guillotined.” 

“ His name? ” 

“ Tiernay.” 

“ Ah, I remember ; he was called ITrlandais.” 

“ The same.” 

“A famous Royalist was that same Tiernay, and, doubt- 
less, contrived to leave a heritage of his opinions to his son.” 

“He left me nothing. I have neither house, nor home, 
nor even bread to eat.” 

“ But you have a head to plan and a heart to feel, 
youngster ; and it is better that fellows like you should not 
want a dinner. Boivin, look to it that he is taken care of. 
In a few days I will relieve you of the charge. l r ou will 
remain here, boy ; there are worse resting places, I promise 
you. There are men who call themselves teachers of the 
people, who would ask no better life than free quarters on 
Boivin.” And so saying, he hurriedly withdrew, leaving me 
face to face with my host. 

“ So then, youngster,” said Boivin, as he scratched his ear 
thoughtfully, “I have gained a pensioner! Parbleu! if life 
were not an uncertain thing in these times, there ’s no say- 
ing how long we might not be blessed with your amiable 
company.” 

“lT>u shall not be burthened heavily, citoyen,” said I; 
“let me have my dinner — I have not eaten since yesterday 
morning — and I will go my ways peacefully.” 

“Which means straight to Robespierre’s dwelling, to tell 
him that I have turned you out of doors — eh, sirrah ? ” 

“l r ou mistake me much,” said I ; “this would be sorry 
gratitude for eaten bread. I meant what I said, — that I 
will not be an unwelcome guest, even though the alternative 
be, as it is, something very nigh starvation.” 

Boivin did not seem clearly to comprehend the meaning of 
what I said; or perhaps my whole conduct and bearing 


THE RESTAURANT “AU SC£l£rAT. j 


31 


puzzled him, for he made no reply for several seconds. At 
last, with a kind of sigh, he said, — 

“Well, well, it cannot be helped! it must be even as he 
wished, though the odds are he ’ll never think more about 
him. Come, lad, you shall have your dinner.” 

I followed him through a narrow, unlighted passage, 
which opened into a room where at a long table were 
seated a number of men and boys at dinner. Some were 
dressed as cooks ; others wore a kind of gray blouse, with a 
badge upon the arm bearing the name 44 Boivin” in large 
letters, and were, as I afterwards learned, the messengers 
employed to carry refreshments into the prison, and 
who by virtue of this sign were freely admitted within 
the gates. 

Taking my place at the board, I proceeded to eat with a 
voracity that only a long fast could have excused ; and thus 
took but little heed of my companions, whose solecisms in 
table etiquette might otherwise have amused me. 

“Art a Marmiton, thou?” asked an elderly man in a 
cook’s cap, as he stared fixedly at me for some seconds. 

“ No,” said I, helping myself, and eating away as before. 

“Thou can’st never be a commissionaire, friend, with an 
appetite like that,” cried another; “ I wouldn’t trust thee to 
carry a casserole to the fire.” 

“Nor shall I be,” said I, coolly. 

“What trade, then, has the good fortune to possess your 
shining abilities?” 

4 4 A trade that thrives well just now, friend ; pass me the 
flask.” 

44 Indeed, and what may it be? ” 

44 Can you not guess, citoyen,” said I, 44 if I tell you that 
it was never more in vogue, and if there be some who will 
not follow it, they’ll wear their heads just as safely by 
holding their peace?” 

44 Parbleu ! thou hast puzzled me,” said the chief cook; 
44 and if thou be’st not a coffin-maker — ” A roar of 
merriment cut short his speech, in which I myself could 
not but join heartily. 

44 That is, I know,” said I, 44 a thriving business; but 
mine is even better; and, not to mystify you longer, I’ll 


32 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


just tell you what I am, — which is, simply, a friend of the 
Citoyen Robespierre.” 

The blow told with full force ; and I saw, in the terrified 
looks that were interchanged around the table, that my 
sojourn amongst them, whether destined to be of short or 
long duration, would not be disturbed by further liberties. 
It was truly a reign of terror that same period ! The great 
agent of everything was the vague and shadowy dread of 
some terrible vengeance, against which precautions were all 
in vain. Men met each other with secret misgivings, and 
parted with the 'same dreadful distrust. The ties of kindred 
were all broken ; brotherly affection died out. Existence was 
become like the struggle for life upon some shipwrecked raft, 
where each sought safety by his neighbor’s doom ! At such 
a time, with such terrible teachings, children became men 
in all the sterner features of character; cruelty is a lesson 
so easily learned. 

As for myself, energetic and ambitious by nature, the 
ascendancy my first assumption of power suggested was too 
grateful a passion to be relinquished. The name whose spell 
was like a talisman became now the secret engine by which 
I determined to work out my fortune. Robespierre had be- 
come to my imagination like the slave of Aladdin’s lamp, 
and to conjure him up was to be all-powerful. Even to Boivin 
himself this influence extended ; and it was easy to perceive 
that he regarded the whole narrative of the pocket-book as a 
mere fable, invented to obtain a position as a spy over his 
household. 

I was not unwilling to encourage the belief, — it added to 
my importance by increasing the fear I inspired ; and thus I 
walked indolently about, giving myself those airs of mou- 
chard that I deemed most fitting, and taking a mischievous 
delight in the terror I was inspiring. 

The indolence of my life, however, soon wearied me, and I 
began to long for some occupation or some pursuit. Teeming 
with excitement as the world was — every day, every hour, 
brimful of events — it was impossible to sit calmly on the 
beach, and watch the great, foaming current of human pas- 
sions, without longing to be in the stream. Had I been a 
man at that time, I should have become a furious orator of 


THE RESTAURANT “ AU SCEL^RAT/ 


38 


the Mountain, an impassioned leader of the people. The 
impulse to stand foremost, to take a bold and prominent 
position, would have carried me to any lengths. I had caught 
up enough of the horrid fanaticism of the time to think that 
there was something grand and heroic in contempt for human 
suffering ; that a man rose proudly above all the weakness of 
his nature, when, in the pursuit of some great object, he 
stifled within his breast every throb of affection, every sen- 
timent of kindness and mercy. Such were the teachings 
rife at the time, such the first lessons that boyhood learned ; 
and oh what a terrible hour had that been for humanity if 
the generation then born had grown up to manhood un- 
chastened and unconverted ! 

But to return to my daily life. As I perceived that a 
week had now elapsed, and the Citizen Robespierre had not 
revisited the restaurant, nor taken any interest in my fate 
or fortunes, I began to fear lest Boivin should master 
his terror regarding me, and take heart to put me out of 
doors, — an event which, in my present incertitude, would 
have been sorely inconvenient. I resolved, therefore, to 
practise a petty deception on my host to sustain the influ- 
ence of terror over him. This was to absent myself every 
day at a certain hour, under the pretence of visiting my 
patron ; letting fall, from time to time, certain indications to 
show in what part of the city I had been, and occasionally, 
as if in an unguarded moment, condescending to relate 
some piece of popular gossip. None ventured to inquire 
the source of my information, not one dared to impugn its 
veracity. Whatever their misgivings in secret, to myself 
they displayed the most credulous faith. Nor was their 
trust so much misplaced, for I had, in reality, become a 
perfect chronicle of all that went forward in Paris, — never 
missing a debate in the Convention, where my retentive 
memory could carry away almost verbally all that I heard ; 
ever present at every public f§te or procession, whether the 
occasions were some insulting desecration of their former 
faith, or some tasteless mockery of heathen ceremonial. 

My powers of mimicry, too, enabled me to imitate all the 
famous characters of the period; and in my assumed 
inviolability I used to exhibit the uncouth gestures and 

3 


34 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


spluttering utterance of Marat, the wild and terrible 
ravings of Danton, and even the reedy treble of my own 
patron Robespierre, as he screamed denunciations against 
the enemies of the people. It is true these exhibitions of 
mine were only given in secret to certain parties, who, by a 
kind of instinct, I felt could be trusted. 

Such was my life, as one day, returning from the Conven- 
tion, I beheld a man affixing to a wall a great placard, to 
which the passing crowd seemed to pay deep attention. It 
was a decree of the Committee of Public Safety, containing 
the names of above seven hundred Royalists who were con- 
demned to death, and who were to be executed in three 
tournees, on three successive days. 

For some time back the mob had not been gratified with a 
spectacle of this nature. In the ribald language of the 
day, the “ holy guillotine had grown thirsty from long 
drought ; ” and they read the announcement with greedy 
eyes, commenting as they went upon those whose names 
were familiar to them. There were many of noble birth 
among the proscribed, but by far the greater number were 
priests, the whole sum of whose offending seemed written in 
the simple and touching words, ancien Cure of such a 
parish ! It was strange to mark the bitterness of invective 
with which the people loaded these poor and innocent men, 
as though they were the source of all their misfortunes. 
The lazy indolence with which they reproached them seemed 
ten times more offensive in their eyes than the lives of ease 
and affluence led by the nobility. The fact was, they could 
not forgive men of their own rank and condition what they 
pardoned in the well-born and the noble, — an inconsistency 
that has characterized democracy in other situations beside 
this. 

As I ran my eyes down the list of those confined in the 
Temple, I came to a name which smote my heart with a 
pang of ingratitude as well as sorrow, — the “ Pere Michel 
Delannois, soi disant cure de St. Blois.” My poor friend 
and protector was there among the doomed ! If up to that 
moment I had made no effort to see him, I must own the 
reason lay in my own selfish feeling of shame, the dread that 
he should mark the change that had taken place in me, — a 


THE RESTAURANT “AU SC£l£rAT. j 


35 


change that I felt extended to all about me, and showed 
itself in my manner as it influenced my every action. It 
was not alone that I lost the obedient air and quiet sub- 
missiveness of the child, but I had assumed the very ex- 
travagance of that democratic insolence which was the mode 
among the leading characters of the time. 

How should I present myself before him, the very imper- 
sonation of all the vices against which he used to warn me ? 
How exhibit the utter failure of all his teachings and his 
hopes ? What would this be but to embitter his reflections 
needlessly? Such were the specious reasons with which I 
fed my self-love, and satisfied my conscience ; but now, as 
I read his name in that terrible catalogue, their plausibility 
served me no longer, and at last I forgot myself to remember 
only him. 

“ I will see him at once,” thought I, “whatever it may 
cost me. I will stay beside him for his last few hours of 
life; and when he carries with him from this world many 
an evil memory of shame and treachery, ingratitude from me 
shall not increase the burden.” 

And with this resolve I turned my steps homeward. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE “TEMPLE.” 

At the time of which I write, there was but one motive 
principle throughout France, — “Terror.” By the agency 
of terror and the threat of denunciation was everything 
carried on, not only in the public departments of the State, 
but in all the common occurrences of every-day life. 
Fathers used it towards their children, children towards 
then parents ; mothers coerced their daughters, daughters 
in turn braved the authority of their mothers. The tri- 
bunal of public opinion, open to all, scattered its decrees 
with a reckless cruelty, — denying to-day what it had decreed 
but yesterday, and at last obliterating every trace of “ right ” 
or 4 ‘ principle ” in a people who now only lived for the pass- 
ing hour, and who had no faith in the future, even of this 
world. 

Among the very children at play, this horrible doctrine 
had gained a footing : the tyrant urchin, whose ingenuity 
enabled him to terrorize, became the master of his play- 
fellows. I was not slow in acquiring the popular education 
of the period, and soon learned that fear was a “Bank” on 
which one might draw at will. Already the domineering 
habit had given to my air and manner all the insolence of 
seeming power, and while a mere boy in years, I was a man 
in all the easy assumption of a certain importance. 

It was with a bold and resolute air I entered the restau- 
rant, and calling Boivin aside, said, — 

“ I have business in the Temple this morning, Boivin ; see 
to it that I shall not be denied admittance.” 

“I am not governor of the jail,” grunted Boivin, sulkily, 
“ nor have I the privilege to pass any one.” 


THE “ TEMPLE.' 


87 


“ But your boys have the entree; the 4 rats ’ [so were they 
called] are free to pass in and out.” 

44 Ay, and I’m responsible for the young rascals, too, and 
for anything that may be laid to their charge.” 

44 And you shall extend this same protection to me, Master 
Boivin, for one day, at least. Nay, my good friend, there ’s 
no use in sulking about it. A certain friend of ours, whose 
name I need not speak aloud, is little in the habit of being 
denied anything : are you prepared for the consequence of 
disobeying his orders ? ” 

44 Let me see that they are his orders,” said he, sturdily; 
44 who tells me that such is his will? ” 

44 1 do,” was my brief reply, as, with a look of consum- 
mate effrontery, I drew myself up and stared him insolently 
in the face. 

44 Suppose, then, that I have my doubts on the matter; 
suppose — ” 

44 1 will suppose all you wish, Boivin,” said I, interrupt- 
ing, 44 and even something more; for I will suppose myself 
returning to the quarter whence I have just come, and within 
one hour — ay, within one hour, Boivin — bringing back with 
me a written order, not to pass me into the Temple, but to 
receive the body of the Citizen Jean Baptiste Boivin, and 
be accountable for the same to the Committee of Public 
Safety.” 

He trembled from head to foot as I said these words, and 
in his shaking cheeks and fallen jaw I saw that my spell was 
working. 

44 And now I ask for the last time, do you consent or 
not?” 

44 How is it to be done?” cried he, in a voice of down- 
right wretchedness. 44 You are not 4 inscribed’ at the secre- 
taries’ office as one of the 4 rats.’ ” 

44 1 should hope not,” said I, cutting him short; 4 4 but I 
may take the place of one for an hour or so. Tristan is 
about my own size ; his blouse and badge will just suit me.” 

44 Ay, leave me to a fine of a thousand francs if you should 
be found out,” muttered Boivin, 44 not to speak of a worse 
mayhap.” 

“Exactly so, — far worse in case of your refusing; but 


38 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


there sounds the bell for mustering the prisoners — it is now 
too late.” 

“Not so, not so!” cried Boivin, eagerly, as he saw me 
prepared to leave the house. “You shall go in Tristan’s 
place. Send him here, that he may tell you everything about 
the 4 service,’ and give you his blouse and badge.” 

I was not slow in availing myself of the permission, nor 
was Tristan sorry to find a substitute. He was a dull, 
depressed-looking boy, not over communicative as to his 
•functions, merely telling me that I was to follow the others, 
that I came fourth in the line, to answer when my name 
was called “ Tristan,” and to put the money I received in my 
leathern pocket, without uttering a word, lest the jailers 
should notice it. 

To accoutre myself in the white cotton nightcap and the 
blouse of the craft was the work of a few seconds ; and 
then, with a great knife in my girdle and a capacious pocket 
slung at my side, I looked every inch a “ Marmiton.” 

In the kitchen the bustle had already begun, and half-a- 
dozen cooks, with as many under-cooks, were dealing out 
4 ‘ portions ” with all the speed of a well-practised perfor- 
mance. Nothing short of great habit could have prevented 
the confusion degenerating into downright anarchy. The 
“service” was, indeed, effected with a wonderful rapidity; 
and certain phrases, uttered with speed, showed how it 
progressed. “ Maigre des cures,” — “ finished.” “ Bouillon 
for the 4 expectants,”’ — 44 ready here.” “Canards aux 
olives des condamnees,” — 44 all served.” “Red partridges 
for the reprieved at the upper table,” — 4 4 despatched.” Such 
were the quick demands and no less quick replies that rung 
out amidst the crash of plates, knives, and glasses and the 
incessant movement of feet, until at last we were all mar- 
shalled in a long line, and, preceded by a drum, set out for 
the prison. 

As we drew near, the heavy gates opened to receive, and 
closed behind us with a loud bang that I could not help 
feeling must have smote heavily on many a heart that had 
passed there. We were now in a large courtyard, where 
several doors led off, each guarded by a sentinel, whose 
ragged clothes and rusty accoutrements proclaimed a true 


THE “TEMPLE.” 


39 


soldier of the Republic. One of the large hurdles used for 
carrying the prisoners to the Place stood in one corner, and 
two or three workmen were busied in repairing it for the 
coming occasion. 

So much I had time to observe, as we passed along ; and 
now we entered a dimly-lighted corridor of great extent; 
passing down which, we emerged into a second “ Cour,” 
traversed by a species of canal or river, over which a bridge 
led. In the middle of this was a strongly-barred iron gate, 
guarded by two sentries. As we arrived here, our names 
were called aloud by a species of turnkey ; and at the call 
“Tristan,” I advanced, and removing the covers from the 
different dishes, submitted them for inspection to an old, 
savage-looking fellow, who with a long steel fork pricked 
the pieces of meat, as though anything could have been con- 
cealed within them. Meanwhile, another fellow examined 
my cotton cap and pocket, and passed his hands along my 
arms and body. The whole did not last more than a few 
minutes, and the word “forward” was given to pass on. 
The gloom of the place; the silence, only broken by the 
heavy bang of an iron-barred door or the clank of chains ; 
the sad thoughts of the many who trod these corridors on 
their way to death, — depressed me greatly, and equally 
unprepared me for what was to come ; for as we drew near 
the great hall, the busy hum of voices, the sound of laughter, 
and the noises of a large assembly in full converse suddenly 
burst upon the ear ; and as the wide doors were thrown open, 
I beheld above a hundred people, who, either gathered in 
single groups or walking up and down in parties, seemed all 
in the fullest enjoyment of social intercourse. 

A great table, with here and there a large flagon of water 
or a huge loaf of the coarse bread used by the peasantry, 
ran from end to end of the chamber. A few had already 
taken their places at this, but some were satisfied with laying 
a cap or a kerchief on the bench opposite their accustomed 
seat ; while others again had retired into windows and cor- 
ners, as if to escape the general gaze, and partake of their 
humble meal in solitude. 

Whatever restrictions prison discipline might have exer- 
cised elsewhere, here the widest liberty seemed to prevail. 


40 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


The talk was loud, and even boisterous ; the manner to the 
turnkeys exhibited nothing of fear; the whole assemblage 
presented rather the aspect of a gathering of riotous Repub- 
licans than of a band of prisoners under sentence. And yet 
such were the greater number ; and the terrible slip of paper 
attached to the back of each, with a date, told the day on 
which he was to die. 

As I lingered to gaze on this strange gathering, I was 
admonished to move on, and now perceived that my com- 
panion had advanced to the end of the hall, by which a 
small flight of stone steps led out upon a terrace, at the end 
of which we entered another and not less spacious chamber, 
equally crowded and noisy. Here the company were of both 
sexes, and of every grade and condition of rank, — from the 
highest noble of the once court, to the humblest peasant of 
La Vendee. If the sounds of mirth and levity were less fre- 
quent, the buzz of conversation was, to the full, as loud as 
in the lower hall, where from difference of condition in life 
the scenes passing presented stranger and more curious con- 
trasts. In one corner a group of peasants were gathered 
around a white-haired priest, who in a low but earnest voice 
was uttering his last exhortation to them ; in another, some 
young and fashionably-dressed men were exhibiting to a 
party of ladies the very airs and graces by which they would 
have adorned a saloon ; here was a party at piquet ; there, 
a little group arranging, for the last time, their household 
cares, and settling, with a few small coins, the account of 
mutual expenditure. Of the ladies, several were engaged at 
needle- work, — some little preparation for the morrow, the 
last demand that ever vanity was to make of them ! 

Although there was matter of curiosity in all around me, 
my eyes sought for but one object, — the cure of St. Blois. 
Twice or thrice, from the similarity of dress, I was deceived ; 
and at last, when I really did behold him, as he sat alone in 
a window, reading, I could scarcely satisfy myself of the 
reality. He was lividly pale, his eyes deep sunk, and sur- 
rounded with two dark circles, while along his worn cheek 
the tears had marked two channels of purple color. What 
need of the guillotine there, — the lamp of life was in its last 
flicker without it. 


THE “TEMPLE.’ 


41 


Our names were called, and the meats placed upon the 
table. Just as the head turnkey was about to give the order 
to be seated, a loud commotion, and a terrible uproar in the 
court beneath, drew every one to the window. It was a 
hurdle, which, emerging from an archway, broke down from 
over crowding ; and now the confusion of prisoners, jailers, 
and sentries, with plunging horses and screaming sufferers, 
made a scene of the wildest uproar. Chained two by two, 
the prisoners were almost helpless, and in their efforts to 
escape injury made the most terrific struggle. Such were 
the instincts of life in those on the very road to death! 

Resolving to profit by the moment of confusion, I hastened 
to the window, where alone, unmoved by the general com- 
motion, sat the Pere Michel. He lifted his glassy eyes as I 
came near, and in a low, mild voice said, — 

“Thanks, my good boy, but I have no money to pay 
thee ; nor does it matter much now, — it is but another day.” 

I could have cried as I heard these sad words ; but master- 
ing emotions which would have lost time so precious, I drew 
close, and whispered, — 

“ Pere Michel, it is I, your own Maurice.” 

He started, and a deep flush suffused his cheek ; and then 
stretching out his hand, he pushed back my cap, and parted 
the hair of my forehead, as if doubting the reality of what 
he saw ; when with a weak voice he said, — 

“ No, no ! thou art not my own Maurice. His eyes shone 
not with that worldly lustre thine do ; his brow was calm, 
and fair as children’s should be, — thine is marked with man- 
hood’s craft and subtlety ; and yet thou art like him.” 

A low sob broke from me as I listened to his words, and 
the tears gushed forth, and rolled in torrents down my 
cheeks. 

“Yes,” cried he, clasping me in his arms, “thou art my 
own dear boy ! I know thee now ; but how art thou here, 
and thus ? ” and he touched my blouse as he spoke. 

“I came to see and to save you, Pere,” said I. “Nay, 
do not try to discourage me, but rather give me all your aid. 
I saw her, — I was with her in her last moments at the guil- 
lotine ; she gave me a message for you, but this you shall 
never hear till we are without these walls.” 


42 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


44 It cannot be, it cannot be,” said he, sorrowfully. 

u It can and shall be,” said I, resolutely. “ I have merely 
assumed this dress for the occasion ; I have friends, power- 
ful and willing to protect me. Let us change robes, — give 
me that soutane, and put on the blouse. When you leave 
this, hasten to the old garden of the chapel, and wait for 
my coming ; I will join you there before night.” 

44 It cannot be,” replied he again. 

44 Again I say, it shall and must be. Nay, if you still 
refuse, there shall be two victims, for I will tear off the dress 
here where I stand, and openly declare myself the son of the 
Royalist Tiernay.” 

Already the commotion in the court beneath was begin- 
ning to subside, and even now the turnkeys’ voices were 
heard in the refectory, recalling the prisoners to table, — - 
another moment and it would have been too late. It was, 
then, less by persuasion than by actual force I compelled 
him to yield, and, pulling off his black serge gown, drew 
over his shoulders my yellow blouse, and placed upon his 
head the white cap of the “ Marmiton.” The look of shame 
and sorrow of the poor cure would have betrayed him at once, 
if any had given themselves the trouble to look at him. 

“And thou, my poor child,” said he, as he saw me array 
myself in his priestly dress, 44 what is to be thy fate? ” 

44 All will depend upon you, Pere Michel,” said I, holding 
him by the arm, and trying to fix his wandering attention. 
44 Once out of the prison, write to Boivin, the restaurateur 
of the 4 Scelerat,’ and tell him that an escaped convict has 
scruples for the danger into which he has brought a poor 
boy, one of his 4 Marmitons,’ and whom by a noxious drug 
he has lulled into insensibility, while, having exchanged 
clothes, he has managed his escape. Boivin will comprehend 
the danger he himself runs by leaving me here. All will 
go well ; and now there *s not a moment to lose. Take up 
your basket, and follow the others.” 

44 But the falsehood of all this,” cried the Pere. 

44 But your life, and mine, too, lost, if you refuse,” said 
I, pushing him away. 

44 Oh, Maurice, how changed have you become ! ” cried he, 
sorrowfully. 


THE “TEMPLE . 1 


43 


“You will see a greater change in me yet, as I lie in the 
sawdust beneath the scaffold,” said I, hastily. “ Go, go! ” 

There was, indeed, no more time to lose. The muster of 
the prisoners was forming at one end of the chamber, while 
the ‘ 4 Marmitons ” were gathering up their plates and dishes, 
previous to departure, at the other ; and it was only by the 
decisive step of laying myself down within the recesses of 
the window, in the attitude of one overcome by sleep, that 
I could force him to obey my direction. I could feel his 
presence as he bent over me, and muttered something that 
must have been a prayer. I could know, without seeing, 
that he still lingered near me, but as I never stirred, he 
seemed to feel that my resolve was not to be shaken, and at 
last he moved slowly away. 

At first the noise and clamor sounded like the crash of 
some desperate conflict, but by degrees this subsided, and I 
could hear the names called aloud and the responses of the 
prisoners, as they were 44 told off” in parties from the differ- 
ent parts of the prison. Tender leave-takings and affection- 
ate farewells from many who never expected to meet again 
accompanied these, and the low sobs of anguish were min- 
gled with the terrible chaos of voices ; and at last I heard 
the name of “Michel Delannois.” I felt as if my death- 
summons was in the words “Michel Delannois.” 

“That crazy priest can neither hear nor see, I believe,” 
said the jailer, savagely. “ Will no one answer for him?” 

“ He is asleep yonder in the window,” replied a voice from 
the crowd. 

“Let him sleep, then,” said the turnkey; “when awake 
he gives us no peace with his prayers and exhortations.” 

“ He has eaten nothing for three days,” observed another; 
“ he is, perhaps, overcome by weakness more than by sleep.” 

“Be it so! if he only lie quiet, I care not,” rejoined the 
jailer, and proceeded to the next name on the list. 

The monotonous roll-call, the heat, the attitude in which 
I was lying, all conspired to make me drowsy ; even the very 
press of sensations that crowded to my brain lent their aid, 
and at last I slept as soundly as ever I had done in my bed 
at night. I was dreaming of the dark alleys in the wood of 
Belleville, where so often I had strolled of an evening with 


44 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


Pere Michel; I was fancying that we were gathering the 
fresh violets beneath the old trees, when a rude hand shook 
my shoulder, and I awoke. One of the turnkeys and 
Boivin stood over me, and I saw at once that my plan had 
worked well. 

“ Is this the fellow?” said the turnkey, pushing me rudely 
with his foot. 

“ Yes,” replied Boivin, white with fear ; “ this is the boy ; 
his name is Tristan.” The latter words were accompanied 
with a look of great significance towards me. 

“What care we how he is called? Let us hear in what 
manner he came here.” 

“ I can tell you little,” said I, staring and looking wildly 
around ; “ I must have been asleep, and dreaming, too.” 

“The letter,” whispered Boivin to the turnkey, — “the 
letter says that he was made to inhale some poisonous drug, 
and that while insensible — ” 

“Bah!” said the other, derisively, “this will not gain 
credit here ; there has been complicity in the affair, Master 
Boivin. The Commissaire is not the man to believe a trumped- 
up tale of the sort ; besides, you are well aware that you are 
responsible for these ‘ rats ’ of yours. It is a private arrange- 
ment between you and the Commissaire, and it is not very 
probable that he’ll get himself into a scrape for you.” 

“ Then what are we to do?” cried Boivin, passionately, as 
he wrung his hands in despair. 

“I know what I should, in a like case,” was the dry 
reply. 

“ And that is — ” 

“ Laisser aller /” was the curt rejoinder. “ The young 
rogue has passed for a cure for the last afternoon ; I ’d even 
let him keep up the disguise a little longer, and it will be all 
the same by this time to-morrow.” 

“You’d send me to the guillotine for another?” said I, 
boldly. “Thanks for the good intention, my friend; but 
Boivin knows better than to follow your counsel. Hear me 
one moment,” said I, addressing the latter, and drawing 
him to one side : “ if you don’t liberate me within a quarter 
of an hour, I ’ll denounce you and yours to the Commissary. 
I know well enough what goes on at the ‘ Scelerat.’ — you 


THE " TEMPLE.' 


45 


understand me well. If a priest has really made his escape 
from the prison, you are not clean-handed enough to meet 
the accusation ; see to it then, Boivin, that I may be free at 
once.” 

“Imp of Satan!” exclaimed Boivin, grinding his teeth; 
“ I have never enjoyed ease or quietness since the first hour 
I saw you.” 

“ It may cost a couple of thousand francs, Boivin,” said 
I, calmly; “but what then? Better that than take your 
seat along with us to-morrow in the Charrette Rouge.” 

“ Maybe he’s right, after all,” muttered the turnkey in a 
half whisper; “ speak to the Commissary.” 

“Yes,” said I, affecting an air of great innocence and 
simplicity, — “ tell him that a poor orphan boy, without 
friends or home, claims his pity.” 

“ Scelerat infame!” cried Boivin, as he shook his fist at 
me, and then followed the turnkey to the Commissary’s 
apartment. 

In less time than I could have believed possible, Boivin 
returned with one of the upper jailers, and told me, in a 
few dry words, that I was free. “But, mark me,” added 
he, “we part here; come what may, you never shall plant 
foot within my doors again.” 

“ Agreed,” said I, gayly ; “ the world has other dupes as 
easy to play upon, and I was getting well nigh weary of you.” 

“ Listen to the scoundrel ! ” muttered Boivin ; “ what will 
he say next? ” 

“ Simply this,” rejoined I, — “ that as these are not be- 
coming garments for me to wear, for I ’m neither Pere nor 
Frere , I must have others ere I quit this.” 

If the insolence of my demand occasioned some surprise 
at first, a little cool persistence on my part showed that 
compliance would be the better policy ; and after conferring 
together for a few minutes, during which I heard the sound 
of money, the turnkey retired, and came back speedily with 
a jacket and cap belonging to one of the drummers of the 
“Republican Guard,” — a gaudy, tasteless affair enough, 
but as a disguise nothing could have been more perfect. 

“Have you not a drum to give him?” said Boivin, with 
a most malignant sneer at my equipment. 


46 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ He 11 make a noise in the world without that ! ” muttered 
the jailer, half soliloquizing ; and the words fell upon my 
heart with a strange significance. 

“ Your blessing, Boivin,” said I, “ and we part.” 

“Ze te — ” 

“ No, no ; don’t curse the boy,” interposed the jailer, good 
humoredly. 

“Then, move off, youngster; I’ve lost too much time 
with you already.” 

The next moment I was in the Place ; a light misty rain 
was falling, and the night was dark and starless; the 
“ Scelerat” was brilliant with lamps and candles, and crowds 
were passing in and out, but it was no longer a home for 
me; so I passed on, and continued my way towards the 
Boulevard. 


CHAPTER IV. 


“the night of the ninth thermidor.” 

I had agreed with the Pere Michel to rendezvous at the 
garden of the little chapel of St. Blois, and thitherward I 
now turned my steps. 

The success which followed this my first enterprise in life 
had already worked a wondrous change in all my feelings. 
Instead of looking up to the poor cure for advice and guid- 
ance, I felt as though our parts were exchanged, and that it 
was I who was now the protector of the other. The oft- 
repeated sneers at les bons Pretres , who were good for noth- 
ing, must have had a share in this new estimate of my 
friend ; but a certain self-reliance just then springing up in 
my heart effectually completed the change. 

The period was essentially one of action and not of reflec- 
tion. Events seemed to fashion themselves at the will of 
him who had daring and courage to confront them, and they 
alone appeared weak and poor-spirited who would not stem 
the tide of fortune. Sentiments like these were not, as may 
be supposed, best calculated to elevate the worthy Pere in 
my esteem ; and I already began to feel how unsuited was 
such companionship for me, whose secret promptings whis- 
pered ever, “ Go forward.”* 

The very vagueness of my hopes served but to extend the 
horizon of futurity before me, and I fancied a thousand 
situations of distinction that might yet be mine. Fame — or 
its poor counterfeit, notoriety — seemed the most enviable of 
all possessions. It mattered little by what merits it were 
won, for in that fickle mood of popular opinion great vices 
were as highly prized as transcendent abilities, and one might 
be as illustrious by crime as by genius. Such were not the 
teachings of the Pere : but they were the lessons that Paris 


48 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


dinned into my ears unceasingly. Reputation, character, 
was of no avail in a social condition where all was change 
and vacillation. What was idolized one day was execrated 
the next. The hero of yesterday was the object of popular 
vengeance to-day. The success of the passing hour was 
everything. 

The streets were crowded as I passed along ; although a 
drizzling rain was falling, groups and knots of people were 
gathered together at every corner, and by their eager looks 
and gestures showed that some event of great moment had 
occurred. I stopped to ask what it meant, and learned that 
Robespierre had been denounced in the Assembly, and that 
his followers were hastening, in arms, to the Place de la 
Greve. As yet, men spoke in whispers or broken phrases. 
Many were seen affectionately embracing and clasping each 
other’s hands in passionate emotion ; but few dared to trust 
themselves to words, for none knew if the peril were really 
passed, or if the power of the tyrant might not become 
greater than ever. While I yet listened to the tidings which, 
in half sentences and broken words, reached my ears, the 
roll of drums beating the generate was heard, and suddenly 
the head of a column appeared, carrying torches, and seated 
upon ammunition wagons and caissons, and chanting in wild 
chorus the w'ords of the u Marseillaise.” On they came, a ter- 
rible host of half-naked wretches, their heads bound in hand- 
kerchiefs, and their brawny arms bare to the shoulders. 

The artillery of the Muhicipale followed, many of the 
magistrates riding amongst them dressed in the tricolored 
scarfs of officers. As the procession advanced, the crowds 
receded, and gradually the streets were left free to the armed 
force. 

While, terror-struck, I continued to gaze at the counte- 
nances over which the lurid torch-light cast a horrid glare, 
a strong hand grasped my collar, and by a jerk swung me 
up to a seat on one of the caissons ; and at the same time a 
deep voice said, “ Come, youngster, this is more in thy way 
than mine,” and a black-bearded sapeur pushed a drum 
before me, and ordered me to beat the generate . Such was 
the din and uproar that my performance did not belie my 
uniform, and I beat away manfully, scarcely sorry, amid all 


-THE NIGHT OF THE NINTH THERMIDOR. 


49 


my fears, at the elevated position from which I now surveyed 
the exciting scene around me. 

As we passed, the shops were closed on either side in 
haste, and across the windows of the upper stories beds and 
mattresses were speedily drawn, in preparation for the state 
of siege now so imminent. Lights flickered from room to 
room, and all betokened a degree of alarm and terror. 
Louder and louder pealed the “ Marseillaise,” as the columns 
deployed into the open Place, from which every street and 
lane now poured its crowds of armed men. The line was 
now formed by the artillery, which, to the number of sixteen 
pieces, ranged from end to end of the square, — the dense 
crowd of horse and foot forming behind, the mass dimly 
lighted by the waving torches that here and there marked 
the presence of an officer. Gradually the sounds of the 
“ Marseillaise” grew fainter and fainter, and soon a dreary 
silence pervaded that varied host, more terrible now, as they 
stood speechless, than in all the tumultuous din of the wildest 
uproar. Meanwhile, from the streets which opened into the 
Place at the farthest end, the columns of the National Guard 
began to move up, the leading files carrying torches ; be- 
hind them came ten pieces of artillery, which, as they 
issued, were speedily placed in battery, and flanked by the 
heavy dragoons of the Guard ; and now, in breathless silence, 
the two forces stood regarding each other, the cannoniers 
with lighted matches in their hands, the dragoons firmly 
clasping their sabres, — all but waiting for the word to plunge 
into the deadliest strife. It was a terrible moment; the 
slightest stir in the ranks, the rattling of a horse’s panoply, 
the clank of a sabre, fell upon the heart like the toll of a 
death-bell. It was then that two or three horsemen were 
seen to advance from the troops of the Convention, and, 
approaching the others, were speedily lost among their ranks. 
A low and indistinct murmur ran along the lines, which 
each moment grew louder, till at last it burst forth into a cry 
of “Vive la Convention!” Quitting their ranks, the men 
gathered around a general of the National Guard, who 
addressed them in words of passionate eloquence, but of 
which I was too distant to hear anything. Suddenly the 
ranks began to thin ; some were seen to pile their arms, and 

4 


50 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


move away in silence ; others marched across the Place, and 
took up their position beside the troops of the National 
Guard ; of the cannoniers , many threw down their matches, 
and extinguished the flame with their feet, while others 
again, limbering up their guns, slowly retired to the 
barracks. 

As for myself, too much interested in the scene to remem- 
ber that I was in some sort an actor in it, I sat upon the 
caisson, watching all that went forward so eagerly that I 
never noticed the departure of my companions, nor perceived 
that I was left by myself. I know not how much later this 
discovery might have been deferred to me had not an officer 
of the Guard ridden up to where I was, and said, “Move 
up, move up, my lad ; keep close to the battery.” He 
pointed at the same time with his sabre in the direction 
where a number of guns and carriages were already 
proceeding. 

Not a little flattered by the order, I gathered up reins and 
whip, and, thanks to the good drilling of the beasts, who 
readily took their proper places, soon found myself in the 
line, which now drew up in the rear of the artillery of the 
Guard, separated from the front by a great mass of horse 
and foot. I knew nothing of what went forward in the 
Place ; from what. I gathered, however, I could learn that 
the artillery was in position, the matches burning, and 
everything in readiness for a cannonade. Thus we remained 
for about an hour, when the order was given to march. 
Little knew I that in that brief interval the whole fortunes 
of France — ay, of humanity itself — had undergone a 
mighty change ; that the terrible reign of blood, the tyranny 
of Robespierre, had closed, and that he who had sent so 
many to the scaffold now lay bleeding and mutilated upon 
the very table where he had signed the death-warrants. 

The day was just beginning to dawn as we entered the 
barracks of the Conciergerie, and drew up in a double line 
along its spacious square. The men dismounted, and stood 
“ at ease,” awaiting the arrival of the staff of the National 
Guard, which it was said was coming ; and now the thought 
occurred to me of what I should best do, — whether make my 
escape while it was yet time, or remain to see by what acci- 


THE NIGHT OF THE NINTH THERMIDOR 51 


dent I had come there. If a sense of duty to the P£re Michel 
urged me on one side, the glimmering hope of some opening 
to fortune swayed me on the other. I tried to persuade 
myself that my fate was bound up with his, and that he 
should be my guide through the wild waste before me ; but 
these convictions could not stand against the very scene in 
which I stood. The glorious panoply of war, — the har- 
nessed team, the helmetted dragoon, the proud steed in all 
the trappings of battle ! How faint were the pleadings of 
duty against such arguments ! The P£re, too, designed me 
for a priest. The life of a “ seminarist” in a convent was 
to be mine ! I was to wear the red gown and the white cap 
of an “acolyte;” to be taught how to swing a censer, or 
snuff the candles of the high altar ; to be a train-bearer in a 
procession, or carry a relic in a glass case! The hoarse 
bray of a trumpet that then rung through the court routed 
these ignoble fancies, and as the staff rode proudly in, my 
resolve was taken. I was determined to be a soldier. 

The day, I have said, was just breaking, and the officers 
wore their dark-gray capotes over their uniforms. One, 
however, had his coat partly open, and I could see the blue 
and silver beneath, which, tarnished and worn as it was, had 
to my eyes all the brilliancy of a splendid uniform. He was 
an old man, and by his position in advance of the others 
showed that he was the chief of the staff. This was General 
Lacoste, at that time en mission from the army of the Rhine, 
and now sent by the Convention to report upon the state 
of events among the troops. Slowly passing along the line, 
the old general halted before each gun, pointing out to his 
staff certain minutiae, which, from his gestures and manner, 
it was easy to see were not the subject of eulogy. Many 
of the pieces were ill slung and badly balanced on the trucks ; 
the wheels in some cases were carelessly put on, their 
tires worn, and the iron shoeing defective. The harnessing, 
too, was patched and mended in a slovenly fashion, the 
horses lean and out of condition, the drivers awkward and 
inexperienced. 

“This is all bad, gentlemen,” said he, addressing the 
officers, but in a tone to be easily heard all around him, 
“ and reflects but little credit upon the state of your disci- 


52 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


pline in the capital. We have been now seventeen months 
in the field before the enemy, and not idle either ; and yet I 
would take shame to myself if the worst battery in our artil- 
lery were not better equipped, better horsed, better driven, 
and better served than any I see here.” 

One who seemed a superior officer here appeared to inter- 
pose some explanation or excuse ; but the general would not 
listen to him, and continued his way along the line, passing 
around which he now entered the space between the guns 
and the caissons. At last he stopped directly in front of 
where I was, and fixed his dark and penetrating eyes steadily 
on me. Such was their fascination that I could not look from 
him, but continued to stare as fixedly at him. 

“ Look here, for instance,” cried he, as he pointed to me 
with his sword, “is that gamin yonder like an artillery- 
driver ; or is it to a drummer-boy you entrust the caisson of 
an eight-pounder gun? Dismount, sirrah, and come hither,” 
cried he to me, in a voice that sounded like an order for 
instant execution. “ This popinjay dress of yours must have 
been the fancy of some worthy shopkeeper of the ‘ Quai 
Lepelletier ; * it never could belong to any regular corps. 
Who are you ? ” 

“Maurice Tiernay, sir,” said I, bringing my hand to my 
cap in military salute. 

“ Maurice Tiernay,” repeated he, slowly, after me. “ And 
have you no more to say for yourself than your name ? ” 

“Very little, sir,” said I, taking courage from the diffi- 
culty in which I found myself. 

“ What of your father, boy, — is he a soldier?” 

“ He was, sir,” replied I, with firmness. 

“ Then he is dead? In what corps did he serve? ” 

“ In the Garde du Corps,” said I, proudly. 

The old general gave a short cough, and seemed to search 
for his snuff-box to cover his confusion ; the next moment, 
however, he had regained his self-possession, and continued : 
“ And since that event — I mean, since you lost your father 
— what have you been doing? How have you supported 
yourself ? ” 

“In various ways, sir,” said I, with a shrug of the 
shoulders, to imply that the answer might be too tedious to 


“THE NIGHT OE THE NINTH THERMIDOR.' 


53 


listen to. “ I have studied to be a priest, and I have served 
as a ‘ rat ’ in the Prison du Temple.” 

“You have certainly tried the extremes of life,” said he, 
laughing; “and now you wish, probably to hit the juste 
milieu , by becoming a soldier?” 

“Even so, sir,” said I, easily. “ It was a mere accident 
that mounted me upon this caisson ; but I am quite ready 
to believe that Fortune intended me kindly when she did 
so.” 

“ These gredins fancy that they are all born to be 
generals of France,” said the old man, laughing; “but, 
after all, it is a harmless delusion, and easily curable by a 
campaign or two. Come, sirrah, I’ll find out a place for 
you, where, if you cannot serve the Republic better, you 
will at least do her less injury than as a driver in her artil- 
lery. Bertholet, let him be enrolled in your detachment of 
the gendarme, and give him my address : I wish to speak to 
him to-morrow.” 

“At what hour, general?” said I, promptly. 

“At eight, or half-past, — after breakfast,” replied he. 

“ It may easily be before mine,” muttered I to myself. 

“ What says he?” cried the general, sharply. 

The aide-de-camp whispered a few words in answer, at 
which the other smiled, and said, “Let him come somewhat 
earlier, — say eight o’clock.” 

“You hear that, boy?” said the aide-de-camp, to me; 
while with a slight gesture he intimated that I might retire. 
Then, as if suddenly remembering that he had not given me 
the address of the general, he took a scrap of crumpled 
paper from his pocket-book, and wrote a few words hastily 
on it with his pencil. “There,” cried he, throwing it 
towards me, “ there is your billet for this day, at least.” I 
caught the scrap of paper, and after deciphering the words, 
perceived that they were written on the back of an assignat 
for forty sous. 

It was a large sum to one who had not wherewithal to 
buy a morsel of bread ; and as I looked at it over and over, 
I fancied there would be no end to the pleasures such wealth 
could purchase. I can breakfast on the Quai Voltaire, 
thought I, — ay, and sumptuously too, with coffee and chest* 


54 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


nuts, and a slice of melon and another of cheese, and a 
petite goutte to finish, — for five sous. The panther, at the 
corner of the Pont Neuf, costs but a sou ; and for three one 
can see the brown bear of America, the hyaena, and another 
beast whose name I forget, but whose image, as he is repre- 
sented outside, carrying off a man in his teeth, I shall retain 
to my last hour. Then there is the panorama of Dunkirk at 
the Rue Chopart, with the Duke of York begging his life 
from a terrible-looking soldier in a red cap and a tri-colored 
scarf. After that, there ’s the parade at the Carrousel ; and 
mayhaps something more solemn still at the Greve. But 
there was no limit to the throng of enjoyments which came 
rushing to my imagination, and it was in a kind of ecstasy 
of delight I set forth on my voyage of pleasure. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE CHOICE OF A LIFE. 

In looking back, after a long lapse of years, I cannot refrain 
from a feeling of astonishment to think how little remem- 
brance I possess of the occurrences of that day, one of the 
most memorable that ever dawned for France, — the event- 
ful 29th of July, that closed the reign of terror by the death 
of the tyrant ! It is true that all Paris was astir at daybreak ; 
that a sense of national vengeance seemed to pervade the 
vast masses that filled the streets, which now were scenes 
of the most exciting emotion. I can only account for the 
strange indifference that I felt about these stirring themes 
by the frequency with which similar, or what to me at 
least appeared similar, scenes had already passed before my 
eyes. 

One of the most remarkable phases of the Revolution was 
the change it produced in all the social relations by substi- 
tuting an assumed nationality for the closer and dearer ties 
of kindred and affection. France was everything, the family 
nothing ; every generous wish, every proud thought, every 
high ambition or noble endeavor, belonged to the country. 
In this way, whatever patriotism may have gained, cer- 
tainly all the home affections were utterly wrecked ; the 
humble and unobtrusive virtues of domestic life seemed mean 
and insignificant beside the grand displays of patriotic 
devotion which each day exhibited. 

Hence grew the taste for that “life of the streets,” then 
so popular; everything should be en evidence. All the 
emotions which delicacy would render sacred to the seclusion 
of home were now to be paraded to the noon-day. Fathers 
were reconciled to rebellious chiklren before the eyes of 
multitudes ; wives received forgiveness from their husbands 


56 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


in the midst of approving crowds ; leave-takings the most 
affecting, partings for those never to meet again, the last 
utterings of the death-bed, the faint whispers of expiring 
affection, the imprecations of undying hate, — all, all were 
exhibited in public, and the gaze of the low, the vulgar, and 
the debauched associated with the most agonizing griefs 
that ever the heart endured. The scenes, which now are 
shrouded in all the secrecy of domestic privacy, were then 
the daily life of Paris ; and to this cause alone can I attribute 
the hardened indifference with which events the most terrible 
and heart-rending were witnessed. Bred up amidst such 
examples, I saw little matter for emotion in scenes of har- 
rowing interest. An air of mockery was on everything, and 
a bastard classicality destroyed every semblance of truth in 
whatever would have been touching and affecting. 

The commotion of Paris on that memorable morning was, 
then, to my thinking, little more than usual. If the crowds 
who pressed their way to the Place de la Revolution were 
greater, if the cries of vengeance were in louder utterance, 
if the imprecations were deeper and more terrible, — the 
ready answer that satisfied all curiosity was, it was Robes- 
pierre who was on his way to be executed. Little knew I 
what hung upon that life, and how the fate of millions 
depended upon the blood that morning was to shed ! Too 
full of myself and my own projects, I disengaged myself 
from the crowds that pressed eagerly towards the Tuileries, 
and took my way by less-frequented streets in the direction 
of the Boulevard Mont Parnasse. 

I wished, if possible, to see the Pere once more, to take a 
last farewell of him, and ask his blessing, too ; for still a 
lingering faith in the lessons he had taught me continued to 
haunt my mind amidst all the evil influences with which my 
wayward life surrounded me. The farther I went from the 
quarter of the Tuileries, the more deserted and solitary grew 
the streets. Not a carriage or horseman was to be seen, 
scarcely a foot-passenger. All Paris had, apparently, as- 
sembled on the Place de la Revolution ; and the very beggars 
had quitted their accustomed haunts to repair thither. 
Even, the distant hum of the vast multitude faded away, and 
it was only as the wind bore them that I could catch the 


THE CHOICE OF A LIFE. 


57 


sounds of the hoarse cries that bespoke a people’s ven- 
geance ; and now I found myself in the little silent street 
which once had been my home. I stood opposite the house 
where we used to live, afraid to enter it lest I might com- 
promise the safety of her I wished to save ; and yet longing 
once more to see the little chamber where we once sat 
together, — the chimney-corner where, in the dark nights of 
winter, I nestled, with my hymn-book, and tried to learn the 
rhymes that every plash of the falling hail against the win- 
dows routed, — to lie down once more in the little bed where 
so often I had passed whole nights of happy imaginings, 
bright thoughts of a peaceful future that were never to be 
realized ! 

Half choking with my emotion, I passed on, and soon saw 
the green fields and the windmill-covered hill of Montmartre 
rising above the embankment of the Boulevards ; and now 
the ivy-clothed wall of the garden, within which stood the 
Chapel of St. Blois. The gate lay ajar as of old, and, push- 
ing it open, I entered. Everything was exactly as I had left 
it, — the same desolation and desertion everywhere, — so 
much so, that I almost fancied no human foot had crossed 
its dreary precincts since last I was there. On drawing nigh 
to the chapel, I found the door fast barred and barricaded as 
before ; but a window lay open, and on examining it closer 
I discovered the marks of a recent foot-track on the ground 
and the window-sill. Could the P&re Michel have been 
there, was the question that at once occurred to my mind. 
Had the poor priest come to take a last look and a farewell 
of a spot so dear to him? It could scarcely have been any 
other. There was nothing to tempt cupidity in that humble 
little church ; an image of the Virgin and Child in wax was 
the only ornament of the altar. No, no ! pillage had never 
been the motive of him who entered here. 

Thus reasoning, I climbed up to the window and entered 
the chapel. As my footsteps echoed through the silent 
building I felt that sense of awe and reverence so inseparably 
connected with a place of worship, and which is ever more' 
impressive still as we stand in it alone. The present, how- 
ever, was less before me than the past, of which everything 
reminded me. There was the seat the Marquise used to sit 


58 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


in ; there the footstool I had so often placed at her feet. 
How different was the last service I had rendered her! 
There the pillar beside which I have stood spell-bound, 
gazing at that fair face whose beauty arrested the thoughts 
that should have wended heavenward, and made my muttered 
prayers like offerings to herself. The very bouquet of 
flowers some pious hand had placed beneath the shrine, 
withered and faded, was there still. But where were they 
whose beating hearts had throbbed with deep devotion? 
How many had died upon the scaffold ! how many were still 
lingering in imprisonment, some in exile, some in conceal- 
ment, dragging out lives of misery and anxiety ! What was 
the sustaining spirit of such martyrdom, I asked myself 
again and again. Was it the zeal of true religion, or was it 
the energy of loyalty that bore them up against every danger, 
and enabled them to brave death itself with firmness ? And 
if this faith of theirs was thus ennobling, why could not 
France be of one mind and heart? There came no answer 
to these doubts of mine, and I slowly advanced towards the 
altar, still deeply buried in thought. What was my surprise 
to see that two candles stood there, which bore signs of hav- 
ing been recently lighted. At once the whole truth flashed 
across me, — the P&re had been there ; he had come to cele- 
brate a mass, — the last, perhaps, he was ever to offer up at 
that altar. I knew with what warm affection he loved every 
object and every spot endeared to him by long time, and I 
fancied to myself the overflowing of his heart as he entered 
once more, and for the last tfme, the little temple associated 
with all the joys and sorrows of his existence. Doubtless, 
too, he had waited anxiously for my coming ; mayhap, in the 
prayers he offered I was not forgotten. I thought of him 
kneeling there in the silence of the night, alone as he was, 
his gentle voice the only sound in the stillness of the hour ; 
his pure heart throbbing with gratitude for his deliverance, 
and prayerful hopes for those who had been his persecutors. 
I thought over all this, and in a torrent of emotions I knelt 
down before the altar to pray. I know not what words I 
uttered, but his name must somehow have escaped my lips ; 
for suddenly a door opened beside the altar, and the P&re 
Michel, dressed in his full vestments, stood before me. His 


THE CHOICE OE A LIFE. 


59 


features, wan and wasted as they were, had regained their 
wonted expression of calm dignity ; and by his look I saw 
that he would not suffer the sacred spot to be profaned by 
any outburst of feeling on either side. 

“ Those dreadful shouts tell of another massacre,” said he, 
solemnly, as the wind bore towards us the deafening cries of 
the angry multitude. “ Let us pray for the soul’s rest of the 
departed.” 

“ Then will your prayers be offered for Robespierre, for 
Couthon, and St. Just,” said I, boldly. 

“ And who are they who need more the saints’ inter- 
cession, who have ever been called to judgment with such 
crimes to expiate, who have ever so widowed France and so 
desecrated her altars? Happily, a few yet remain where 
piety may kneel to implore pardon for their iniquity. Let us 
recite the Litany for the Dead,” said he, solemnly, and at 
once began the impressive service. 

As I knelt beside the rails of the altar, and heard the 
prayers which with deep devotion he uttered, I could not 
help feeling the contrast between that touching evidence of 
Christian charity and the tumultuous joy of the populace, 
whose frantic bursts of triumph were borne on the air. 

“ And now come with me, Maurice,” said he, as the mass 
was concluded. “Here, in this little sacristy, we are safe 
from all molestation ; none will think of us on such a day 
as this.” 

And as he spoke he drew his arm around me, and led me 
into the little chamber where once the precious vessels and 
the decorations of the church were kept. 

“ Here we are safe,” said he, as he drew me to his side on 
the oaken bench, which formed all the furniture of the room. 
‘ 4 To-morrow, Maurice, we must leave this, and seek an 
asylum in another land ; but we are not friendless, my child, 
— the brothers of the ‘ Sacred Heart’ will receive us. Their 
convent is in the wilds of the Ardennes, beyond the frontiers 
of France, and there, beloved by the faithful peasantry, they 
live in security and peace. We need not take the vows of 
their order, which is one of the strictest of all religious 
houses ; but we may claim their hospitality and protection, 
and neither will be denied us. Think what a blessed exis- 


60 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


tence will that be, Maurice, my son, to dwell under the same 
roof with these holy men, and to imbibe from them the peace 
of mind that holiness alone bestows ; to awake at the solemn 
notes of the pealing organ, and to sink to rest with the 
glorious liturgies still chanting around you ; to feel an atmos- 
phere of devotion on every side, and to see the sacred relics 
whose miracles have attested the true faith in ages long past ! 
Does it not stir thy heart, my child, to know that such 
blessed privileges may be thine ? ” 

I hung my head in silence, for in truth I felt nothing of 
the enthusiasm with which he sought to inspire me. The 
P&re quickly saw what passed in my mind, and endeavored 
to depict the life of the monastery as a delicious existence, 
embellished by all the graces of literature and adorned by 
the pleasures of intellectual converse. Poetry, romance, 
scenery, all were pressed into the service of his persuasions ; 
but how weak were such arguments to one like me, — the boy 
whose only education had been what the streets of Paris 
afforded, whose notions of eloquence were formed on the 
insane ravings of The Mountain, and whose idea of great- 
ness was centred in mere notoriety ! 

My dreamy look of inattention showed him again that he 
had failed ; and I could see, in the increased pallor of his 
face, the quivering motion of his lip, the agitation the defeat 
was costing him. 

“ Alas ! alas ! ” cried he, passionately, “ the work of ruin 
is perfect ; the mind of youth is corrupted, and the fountain 
of virtue defiled at the very source. Oh, Maurice, I had 
never thought this possible of thee, the child of my heart ! ” 

A burst of grief here overcame him ; for some minutes he 
could not speak. At last he arose from his seat, and wiping 
off the tears that covered his cheeks with his robe, spoke, but 
in a voice whose full round tones contrasted strongly with 
his former weak accents : — 

“The life I have pictured seems to thee ignoble and un- 
worthy, boy. So did it not appear to Chrysostom, to Origen, 
and to Augustin ; to the blessed saints of our Church, the 
eldest-born of Christianity. Be it so. Thine, mayhap, is 
not the age, nor this the era, in which to hope for better 
things. Thy heart yearns for heroic actions, thy spirit is 


THE CHOICE OF A LIFE. 


61 


set upon high ambitions; be it so. I say, never was the 
time more fitting for thee. The enemy is up ; his armies are 
in the field ; thousands and tens of thousands swell the ranks, 
already flushed with victory. Be a soldier, then. Ay, 
Maurice, buckle on the sword, — the battle-field is before thee. 
Thou hast made choice to seek the enemy in the far-away 
countries of heathen darkness, or here in our own native 
France, where his camp is already spread. If danger be the 
lure that tempts thee, if to confront peril be thy wish, — 
there is enough of it. Be a soldier, then, and gird thee for 
the great battle that is at hand. Ay, boy, if thou feelest 
within thee the proud darings that foreshadow success, speak 
the w r ord, and thou shalt be a standard-bearer in the very 
van.” 

I waited not for more ; but springing up, I clasped my 
arms around his neck, and cried, in ecstasy, “Yes, Pere 
Michel, you have guessed aright ; my heart’s ambition is to 
be a soldier, and I want but your blessing to be a brave 
one ! ” 

“And thou shalt have it. A thousand blessings follow 
those who go forth to the good fight. But thou art yet 
young, Maurice, — too young for this. Thou needest time, 
and much teaching too. He who would brave the enemy 
before us must be skilful as well as courageous. Thou art as 
yet but a child.” 

“ The general said he liked boy-soldiers,” said I, promptly ; 
“ he told me so himself.” 

“ What general — who told thee? ” cried the Pere, in trem- 
bling eagerness. 

“ General Lacoste, the Chef d’Etat major, of the army of 
the Rhine ; the same who gave me a rendezvous for to-mor- 
row at his quarters.” 

It was not till I had repeated my explanation again and 
again, nor, indeed, until I had recounted all the circum- 
stances of my last night’s adventure, that the poor Pere 
could be brought to see his way through a mystery that had 
almost become equally embarrassing to myself. When he 
did, however, detect the clew, and when he had perceived the 
different tracks on which our minds were travelling, his grief 
burst all bounds. He inveighed against the armies of the 


62 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


Republic as hordes of pillagers and bandits, the sworn 
enemies of the Church, the desecrators of her altars. Their 
patriotism he called a mere pretence to shroud their infidelity ; 
their heroism was the blood-thirstiness of democratic cruelty. 
Seeing me still unmoved by all this passionate declamation, 
he adopted another tactic, and suddenly asked me if it were 
for such a cause as this my father had been a soldier? 

“ No ! ” replied I, firmly ; “ for when my father was alive, 
the soil of France had not been desecrated by the foot of the 
invader. The Austrian, the Prussian, the Englishman, had 
not yet dared to dictate the laws under which we were to 
live.” 

He appeared thunderstruck at my reply, revealing, as it 
seemed to him, the extent of those teachings whose corrup- 
tions he trembled at. 

“ I knew it, I knew it,” cried he, bitterly, as he wrung his 
hands. “ The seed of the iniquity is sown, — the harvest- 
time will not be long in coming ! And so, boy, thou hast 
spoken with one of these men, — these generals, as they call 
themselves, of that republican horde?” 

‘ ‘ The officer who commands the artillery of the army of 
the Rhine may write himself general with little presumption,” 
said I, almost angrily. 

“ They who once led our armies to battle were the nobles 
of France, — men whose proud station was the pledge for 
their chivalrous devotion. But why do I discuss the question 
with thee? He who deserts his faith may well forget that 
his birth was noble. Go, boy, join those with whom your 
heart is already linked. Your lesson will be an easy one, — 
you have nothing to unlearn. The songs of the Girondins 
are already more grateful to your ear than our sacred canti- 
cles. Go, I say, since between us henceforth there can be 
no companionship ! ” 

“Will you not bless me, Pere,” said I, approaching him 
in deep humility; “will you not let me carry with me thy 
benediction ? ” 

“ How shall I bless the arm that is lifted to wound the 
Holy Church, how shall I pray for one whose place is in 
the ranks of the infidel? Hadst thou faith in my blessing, 
boy, thou hadst never implored it in such a cause. Renounce 


THE CHOICE OF A LIFE. 


63 


thy treason, and not alone my blessing, but thou shalt have 
a 4 No vena ’ to celebrate thy fidelity. Be of us, Maurice, 
and thy name shall be honored where honor is immortality ! ” 

The look of beaming affection with which he uttered this, 
more than the words themselves, now shook my courage, and 
in a conflict of doubt and indecision I held down my head 
without speaking. What might have been my ultimate 
resolve, if left completely to myself, I know not ; but at that 
very moment a detachment of soldiers marched past in the 
street without. They were setting off to join the army of 
the Rhine, and were singing in joyous chorus the celebrated 
song of the day, Le chant du depart. The tramp of their 
feet, the clank of their weapons, their mellow voices, but 
more than all, the associations that thronged to my mind, 
routed every other thought, and I darted from the spot, and 
never stopped till I reached the street. 

A great crowd followed the detachment, composed partly 
of friends of the soldiers, partly of the idle loungers of the 
capital. Mixing with these, I moved onward, and speedily 
passed the outer boulevard and gained the open country. 


CHAPTER VI. 


“the army sixty years since.” 

I followed the soldiers as they marched beyond the outer 
boulevard, and gained the open country. Many of the idlers 
dropped off here, others accompanied us a little farther ; but 
at length, when the drums ceased to beat, and were slung 
in marching order on the backs of the drummers, when the 
men broke into the open order that French soldiers instinc- 
tively assume on a march, the curiosity of the gazers appeared 
to have nothing more to feed upon, and one by one they 
returned to the capital, leaving me the only lingerer. 

To any one accustomed to military display, there was little 
to attract notice in the column, which consisted of detach- 
ments from various corps, horse, foot, and artillery; some 
were returning to their regiments after a furlough ; some had 
just issued from the hospitals, and were seated in charettes, 
or country cars ; and others, again, were peasant boys only 
a few days before drawn in the conscription. There was 
every variety of uniform, and, I may add, of raggedness, 
too, — a coarse blouse and a pair of worn shoes, with a red 
or blue handkerchief on the head, being the dress of many 
among them. The Republic was not rich in those days, and 
cared little for the costume in which her victories were won. 
The artillery alone seemed to preserve anything like uni- 
formity in dress. They wore a plain uniform of blue, with 
long white gaiters coming half way up the thigh; a low 
cocked hat, without feather, but with the tricolored cockade 
in front. They were mostly men middle-aged or past the 
prime of life, bronzed, weather-beaten, hardy-looking fellows, 
whose white mustaches contrasted well with then’ sun-burned 
faces. All their weapons and equipments were of a superior 
kind, and showed the care bestowed upon an arm whose effi- 


THE ARMY SIXTY YEARS SINCE/ 


65 


ciency was the first discovery of the republican generals. 
The greater number of these were Bretons, and several of 
them had served in the fleet, still bearing in their looks and 
carriage something of that air which seems inherent in the 
seaman. They were grave, serious, and almost stern in 
manner, and very unlike the young cavalry soldiers, who, 
mostly recruited from the south of France, many of them 
Gascons, had all the high-hearted gayety and reckless levity 
of their own peculiar land. A campaign to these fellows 
seemed a pleasant excursion ; they made a jest of everything, 
from the wan faces of the invalids to the black bread of the 
Commissary; they quizzed the new “ Tourlerous,” as the 
recruits were styled, and the old “ Grumblers,” as it was the 
fashion to call the veterans of the army ; they passed their 
jokes on the Republic, and even their own officers came in 
for a share of their ridicule. The grenadiers, however, were 
those who especially were made the subject of their sarcasm. 
They were generally from the north of France and the fron- 
tier country towards Flanders, whence they probably imbibed 
a portion _of that phlegm and moroseness so very unlike the 
general gayety of French nature, and when assailed by such 
adversaries were perfectly incapable of reply or retaliation. 

They all belonged to the army of the “ Sambre et Meuse,” 
which, although at the beginning of the campaign highly 
distinguished for its successes, had been latterly eclipsed by 
the extraordinary victories on the Upper Rhine and in West- 
ern Germany ; and it was curious to hear with what intelli- 
gence and interest the greatest questions of strategy were 
discussed by those who carried them packs as common 
soldiers in the ranks. Movements and manoeuvres were 
criticised, attacked, defended, ridiculed, and condemned, 
with a degree of acuteness and knowledge that showed the 
enormous progress the nation had made in military science, 
and with what ease the Republic could recruit her officers 
from the ranks of her soldiers. 

At noon the column halted in the wood of Belleville ; and 
while the men were resting, an express arrived announcing 
that a fresh body of troops would soon arrive, and ordering 
the others to delay their march till they came up. The 
orderly who brought the tidings could only say that he 

5 


66 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


believed some hurried news had come from Germany, for 
before he left Paris the rappel was beating in different 
quarters, and the rumor ran that reinforcements were to set 
out for Strasbourg with the utmost dispatch. 

“And what troops are coming to join us?” said an old 
artillery sergeant, in evident disbelief of the tidings. 

“Two batteries of artillery and the voltigeurs of the 
Fourth, I know for certain are coming,” said the orderly, 
“and they spoke of a battalion of grenadiers.” 

4 4 What ! do these Germans need another lesson ? ” said 
the cannonier. “ I thought Fleurus had taught them what 
our troops were made of.” 

“ How you talk of Fleurus ! ” interrupted a young hussar of 
the south ; “I have just come from the army of Italy, and, 
ma foil we should never have mentioned such a battle as 
Fleurus in a despatch, — campaigning amongst dykes and 
hedges, fighting with a river on one flank and a fortress on 
t’other, parade manoeuvres, where at the first check the 
enemy retreats, and leaves you free for the whole afternoon 
to write off your successes to the Directory. Had you seen 
our fellows scaling the Alps, with avalanches of snow des- 
cending at every fire of the great guns, forcing pass after 
pass against an enemy posted on every cliff and crag above 
us, cutting our way to victory by roads the hardiest hunter 
had seldom trod, — I call that war ! ” 

“ And I call it the skirmish of an outpost! ” said the gruff 
veteran, as he smoked away in thorough contempt for the 
enthusiasm of the other. “I have served under Kleber, 
Hoche, and Moreau, and I believe they are the first generals 
of France.” 

“ There is a name greater than them all,” cried the hussar, 
with eagerness. 

“ Let us hear it, then, — you mean Pichegru, perhaps, or 
Massena? ” 

“ No, I mean Bonaparte ! ” said the hussar, triumphantly. 

“A good officer, and one of us,” said the artilleryman, 
touching his belt to intimate the arm of the service the 
general belonged to. “ He commanded the siege train at 
Toulon.” 

“ He belongs to all,” said the other. “ He is a dragoon, a 


THE ARMY SIXTY YEARS SINCE. 


67 


voltigeur, an artillerist, a pontonier, — what you will; he 
knows everything, as I know my horse’s saddle and cloak-bag.” 

Both parties now grew warm ; and as each was not only 
an eager partisan, but well acquainted with the leading 
events of the two campaigns they undertook to defend, the 
dispute attracted a large circle of listeners, who, either 
seated on the green sward or lying at full length, formed a 
picturesque group under the shadow of the spreading oak- 
trees. Meanwhile, the cooking went speedily forward, and 
the camp-kettles smoked with a steam whose savory odor 
was not a little tantalizing to one who, like myself, felt that 
he did not belong to the company. 

“What’s thy mess, boy?” said an old grenadier to me, 
as I sat at a little distance off, and affecting — but I fear very 
ill — a total indifference to what went forward. 

4 4 He is asking to what corps thou belong’st ? ” said another, 
seeing that the question puzzled me. 

44 Unfortunately I have none,” said I. 44 1 merely followed 
the march for curiosity.” 

44 And thy father and mother, child, — what will they say 
to thee on thy return home ? ” 

“I have neither father, mother, nor home,” said I, 
promptly. 

“Just like myself,” said an old red-whiskered sapeur; 
44 or if I ever had parents they never had the grace to own 
me. Come over here, child, and take share of my dinner.” 

44 No, parbleu! I ’ll have him for my comrade,” cried the 
young hussar. 4 4 1 was made a corporal yesterday, and have 
a larger ration. Sit here, my boy, and tell us how thou art 
called.” 

44 Maurice Tiernay.” 

44 Maurice will do ; few of us care for more than one 
name, — except in the dead muster they like to have it in 
full. Help thyself, my lad, and here ’s the wine-flask beside 
thee.” 

44 How comes it thou hast this old uniform, boy ? ” said he, 
pointing to my sleeve. 

“It was one they gave me in the Temple,” said I. 44 1 
was a rat du prison for some time.” 

44 Thunder of war!” exclaimed the cannonier, 44 1 had 


68 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


rather stand a whole platoon fire than see what thou must 
have seen, child.” 

“ And hast heart to go back there, boy,” said the corporal, 
“ and live the same life again? ” 

“ No, I’ll never go back,” said I. “ I’ll be a soldier.” 

“Well said, man brave! thou ’It be a hussar, I know.” 

“If Nature has given thee a good head and a quick eye, 
my boy, thou might even do better; and in time, perhaps, 
wear a coat like mine,” said the cannonier. 

“Nacre bleu!” cried a little fellow, whose age might 
have been anything from boyhood to manhood, for while 
small of stature, he was shrivelled and wrinkled like 
a mummy, — “why not be satisfied with the coat he 
wears ? ” 

“ And be a drummer, like thee? ” said the cannonier. 

“ Just so, like me, and like Massena ; he was a drummer, 
too.” 

“No, no!” cried a dozen voices together, “that’s not 
true.” 

“He’s- right; Massena was a drummer in the Eighth,” 
said the cannonier ; “I remember him when he was like that 
boy yonder.” 

“To be sure,” said the little fellow, who, I now perceived, 
wore the dress of a tambour ; “ and is it a disgrace to be 
the first to face the enemy?” 

“And the first to turn his back to him, comrade,” cried 
another. 

“Not always, not always,” said the little fellow, regard- 
less of the laugh against him. “ Had it been so, I had not 
gained the battle of Grandrengs on the Sambre.” 

“Thou gain a battle ! ” shouted half-a-dozen, in derisive 
laughter. 

“What, Petit Pierre gained the day at Grandrengs!” 
said the cannonier; “why, I was there myself, and never 
heard of that till now.” 

“I can believe it well,” replied Pierre; “many a man’s 
merits go unacknowledged, and Kleber got all the credit 
that belonged to Pierre Canot.” 

“Let us hear about it, Pierre, for even thy victory is un- 
known by name to us poor devils of the army of Italy. How 
call’st thou the place ? ” 


THE ARMY SIXTY YEARS SINCE. J 


69 


44 Grandrengs,” said Pierre, proudly. 44 Its name will live 
as long, perhaps, as many of those high-sounding ones 
you have favored us with. Mayhap thou hast heard of 
Cambray?” 

44 Never! ” said the hussar, shaking his head. 

“Nor of Mons, either, I’ll be sworn?” continued 
Pierre. 

“ Quite true, I never heard of it before.” 

“ Voila!” exclaimed Pierre, in contemptuous triumph; 
“ and these are the fellows that pretend to feel their 
country’s glory, and take pride in her conquests ! Where 
hast thou been, lad, not to hear of places that every child 
syllables now-a-days ? ” 

“I will tell you where I’ve been,” said the hussar, 
haughtily, and dropping at the same time the familiar 
“thee” and “thou” of soldier intercourse; “I’ve been at 
Montenotte, at Millesimo, at Mondove — ” 

“ Allons done with your disputes!” broke in an old 
grenadier; “as if France was not victorious whether the 
enemies were English or German. Let us hear how Pierre 
won his battle at — at — ” 

“ At Grandrengs,” said Pierre. “ They call it in the des- 
patch the 4 action of the Sambre,’ because Kleber came up 
there ; and Kleber being a great man, and Pierre Canot a 
little one, you understand, the glory attaches to the place 
where the bullion epaulettes are found, — just as the old 
King of Prussia used to say, 4 Le bon Dieu est toujours a 
cote de gros bataillons.’ ” 

44 I see we’ll never come to this same victory of Grand- 
rengs, with all these turnings and twistings,” muttered the 
artillery sergeant. 

44 Thou art very near it now, comrade, if thou ’It listen,” 
said Pierre, as he wiped his mouth after a long draught of 
the wine-flask. 44 1 ’ll not weary the honorable company 
with any description of the battle generally, but just confine 
myself to that part of it in which I was myself in action. 
It is well known, that, though we claimed the victory of 
the 10th May, we did little more than keep our own, and 
were obliged to cross the Sambre, and be satisfied with such 
a position as enabled us to hold the two bridges over the 


70 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


river ; and there we remained for four days, — some said 
preparing for a fresh attack upon Kaunitz, who commanded 
the allies ; some, and I believe they were right, alleging that 
our generals were squabbling all day, and all night too, 
with two Commissaries that the Government had sent down 
to teach us how to win battles. Ma foi! we had had some 
experience in that way ourselves, without learning the 
art from two citizens with tricolored scarfs round their 
waists and yellow tops to their boots ! However that 
might be, early on the morning of the 20th we received 
orders to cross the river in two strong columns, and form 
on the opposite side; at the same time that a division 
was to pass the stream by boat two miles higher up, and, 
concealing themselves in a pine wood, be ready to take the 
enemy in flank when they believed that all the force was in 
the front.” 

“ Sacre tonnerre ! I believe that our armies of the Sambrd 
and the Rhine never have any other notion of battles than 
that eternal flank movement ! ” cried a young sergeant of 
the voltigeurs, who had just come up from the army of 
Italy. “ Our general used to split the enemy by the centre, 
cut him piecemeal by attack in columns, and then mow him 
down with artillery at short range, not leaving him time for 
a retreat in heavy masses — ” 

“Silence, silence! and let us hear Petit Pierre,” shouted 
a dozen voices, who cared far more for an incident than a 
scientific discussion about manoeuvres. 

“The plan I speak of was General Moreau’s,” continued 
Pierre ; “ and I fancy that your Bonaparte has something to 
learn ere he be his equal ! ” 

This rebuke seeming to have engaged the suffrages of the 
company, he went on: “The boat division consisted of 
four battalions of infantry, two batteries of light artillery, 
and a voltigeur company of the Regiment de Marboeuf, to 
which I was then, for the time, attached as tambour en chef. 
What fellows they were, — the greatest devils in the whole 
army! They came from the Faubourg St. Antoine, and 
were as reckless and undisciplined as when they strutted the 
streets of Paris. When they were thrown out to skirmish, 
they used to play as many tricks as school-boys ; sometimes 


THE ARMY SIXTY YEARS SINCE.” 


71 


they ’d run up to the roof of a cabin or a hut — and they 
could climb like cats — and, sitting down on the chimney, 
begin firing away at the enemy as coolly as if from a battery ; 
sometimes they ’d capture half-a-dozen asses, and ride for- 
ward as if to charge, and then, affecting to tumble off, the 
fellows would pick down any of the enemy’s officers that 
were fools enough to come near, — scampering back to the 
cover of the line, laughing and joking as if the whole were 
sport. I saw one when his wrist was shattered by a shot, 
and he could n’t fire, take a comrade on his back and caper 
away like a horse, just to tempt the Germans to come out of 
their lines. It was with these blessed youths I was now to 
serve, for the tambour of the Marboeuf was drowned in 
crossing the Sambre a few days before. Well, we passed 
the river safely, and unperceived by the enemy gained the 
pine wood, where we formed in two columns, — one of 
attack, and the other of support, the voltigeurs about five 
hundred paces in advance of the leading files. The morning 
was dull and hazy, for a heavy rain had fallen during the 
night ; and the country is flat, and so much intersected with 
drains and dykes and ditches that after rain the vapor is 
too thick to see twenty yards on any side. Our business 
was to make a counter-march to the right, and, guided by 
the noise of the cannonade, to come down upon the enemy’s 
flank in the thickest of the engagement. As we advanced, 
we found ourselves in a kind of marshy plain, planted with 
willows, and so thick that it was often difficult for three men 
to march abreast. This extended for a considerable dis- 
tance ; and on escaping from it we saw that we were not 
above a mile from the enemy’s left, which rested on a little 
village.” 

“ I know it well,” broke in the cannonier; “it’s called 
Huyningen.” 

“Just so. There was a formidable battery in position 
there ; and part of the place was stockaded, as if they 
expected an attack. Still, there were no vedettes, nor any 
look-out party, so far as we could see ; and our commanding 
officer did n’t well know what to make of it, — whether it was 
a point of concealed strength, or a position they were about 
to withdraw from. At all events, it required caution ; and 


72 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


although the battle had already begun on the right, — as a 
loud cannonade and a heavy smoke told us, — he halted the 
brigade in the wood, and held a council of his officers to see 
what was to be done. The resolution come to was, that the 
voltigeurs should advance alone to explore the way, the rest 
of the force remaining in ambush. We were to go out in 
sections of companies, and spreading over a wide surface see 
what we could of the place. 

‘ 4 Scarcely was the order given, when away we went, — 
and it was now a race who should be earliest up and 
exchange the first shot with the enemy. Some dashed for- 
ward over the open field in front ; others skulked along by 
dykes and ditches ; some, again, dodged here and there, as 
cover offered its shelter ; but about a dozen, of whom I was 
one, kept the track of a little cart-road, which, half-con- 
cealed by high banks and furze, ran in a zig-zag line towards 
the village. I was always smart of foot ; and now, having 
newly joined the voltigeurs, was naturally eager to show my- 
self not unworthy of my new associates. I went on at my 
best pace, and being lightly equipped, — neither musket nor 
ball cartridge to carry, — I soon outstripped them all, and, 
after about twenty minutes’ brisk running, saw in front of 
me a long, low farm-house, the walls all pierced for mus- 
ketry, and two small eight-pounders in battery at the gate. 
I looked back for my companions, but they were not up, — 
not a man of them to be seen. 4 No matter,’ thought I, 

4 they ’ll be here soon ; meanwhile I ’ll make for that little 
copse of brushwood ; ’ for a small clump of low furze and 
broom was standing at a little distance in front of the farm. 
All this time, I ought to say, not a man of the enemy was 
to be seen, although I, from where I stood, could see the 
crenelated walls and the guns, as they were pointed ; at a 
distance all would seem like an ordinary peasant house. 

44 As I crossed the open space to gain the copse, piff ! 
came a bullet, whizzing past me ; and just as I reached the 
cover, piff ! came another. I ducked my head and made for 
the thicket ; but just as I did so, my foot caught in a branch. 
I stumbled and pitched forward; and trying to save myself, 
I grasped a bough above me ; it smashed suddenly, and 
down I went. Ay ! down sure enough, for I went right 


“THE ARMY SIXTY YEARS SINCE.’ 


73 


through the furze and into a well, — one of those old walled 
wells they have in these countries, with a huge bucket that 
fills up the whole space, and is worked by a chain. Luckily, 
the bucket was linked up near the top, and caught me, or 
I should have gone where there would have been no more 
heard of Pierre Canot ; as it was, I was sorely bruised by 
the fall, and did n’t recover myself for full ten minutes after. 
Then I discovered that I was sitting in a large wooden 
trough, hooped with iron, and supported by two heavy chains 
that passed over a windlass, about ten feet above my head. 

‘ ‘ 1 was safe enough for the matter of that ; at least none 
were likely to discover me, as I could easily see, by the rust 
of the chain and the grass-grown edges, that the well had 
been long disused. Now, the position was far from being 
pleasant. There stood the farm-house full of soldiers, the 
muskets ranging over every approach to where I lay. Of 
my comrades there was nothing to be seen, they had either 
missed the way or retreated ; and so time crept on, and I 
pondered on what might be going forward elsewhere, and 
whether it would ever be my own fortune to see my comrades 
again. 

“It might be an hour — it seemed three or four to me — 
after this, as I looked over the plain, I saw the caps of our 
infantry just issuing over the brushwood, and a glancing 
lustre of their bayonets as the sun tipped them. They were 
advancing, but, as it seemed, slowly, — halting at times, and 
then moving forward again, just like a force waiting for 
others to come up. At last they debouched into the plain ; 
but, to my surprise, they wheeled about to the right, leaving 
the farm-house on their flank, as if to march beyond it. 
This was to lose their way totally ; nothing would be easier 
than to carry the position of the farm, for the Germans were 
evidently few, had no vedettes, and thought themselves in 
perfect security. I crept out from my ambush, and holding 
my cap on a stick tried to attract notice from our fellows, 
but none saw me. I ventured at last to shout aloud, but 
with no better success ; so that, driven to the end of my 
resources, I set to and beat a roulade on the drum, thunder- 
ing away with all my might, and not caring what might come 
of it, for I was half mad with vexation as well as despair. They 


74 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


heard me now. I saw a staff officer gallop up to the head 
of the leading division and halt them ; a volley came pepper- 
ing from behind me, but without doing me any injury, for I 
was safe once more in my bucket. Then came another 
pause, and again I repeated my manoeuvre, and to my delight 
perceived that our fellows were advancing at quick march. 
I beat harder, and the drums of the grenadiers answered me. 
All right now, thought I, as, springing forward, I called out, 
‘ This way boys, the wall of the orchard has scarcely a man 
to defend it ! * and I rattled out the pas-de-charge with all 
my force. One crashing fire of guns and small arms 
answered me from the farm-house, and then away went the 
Germans as hard as they could ; such running never was 
seen ! One of the guns they carried off with them, the 
tackle of the other broke, and the drivers, jumping off their 
saddles, took to their legs at once. Our lads were over the 
walls, through the windows, between the stockades, every- 
where in fact in a minute, and once inside they carried all 
before them. The village was taken at the point of the 
bayonet, and in less than an hour the whole force of the 
brigade was advancing in full march on the enemy’s flank. 
There was little resistance made after that, and Kaunitz 
only saved his artillery by leaving his rearguard to be cut to 
pieces.” 

The cannonier nodded, as if in full assent, and Pierre 
looked around him with the air of a man who has vindicated 
his claim to greatness. 

“Of course,” said he, “the despatch said little about 
Pierre Canot, but a great deal about Moreau and Kleber, 
and the rest of them.” 

While some were well satisfied that Pierre had well estab- 
lished his merits as the conqueror of Grandrengs, others 
quizzed him about the heroism of lying hid in a well, and 
owing all his glory to a skin of parchment. 

“ An’ thou wert with the army of Italy, Pierre,” said the 
hussar, “ thou ’d have seen men march boldly to victory, 
and not skulk underground like a mole.” 

“I am tired of your song about this army of Italy,” 
broke in the cannonier ; “we who have served in La Vendee 
and the North know what fighting means as well, mayhap, as 


THE ARMY SIXTY YEARS SINCE.” 


75 


men whose boldest feats are scaling rocks and clambering up 
precipices. Your Bonaparte is more like one of those 
Guerilla chiefs they have in the Basque, than the general of 
a French army.” 

“The man who insults the army of Italy, or its chief, 
insults me ! ” said the corporal, springing up, and casting a 
sort of haughty defiance around him. 

“ And then? ” asked the other. 

“And then — if he be a French soldier, he knows what 
should follow.” 

“ Parbleu ! ” said the cannonier, coolly, “there would be 
little glory in cutting you down, and even less in being 
wounded by you ; but if you will have it so, it ’s not an old 
soldier of the artillery will balk your humor.” 

As he spoke, he slowly arose from the ground, and tight- 
ening his waist-belt seemed prepared to follow the other. 
The rest sprang to their feet at the same time, but not, as I 
anticipated, to offer a friendly mediation between the angry 
parties, but in full approval of their readiness to decide by 
the sword a matter too trivial to be called a quarrel. 

In the midst of the whispering conferences as to place and 
weapons — for the short straight sword of the artillery was 
very unlike the curved sabre of the hussar — the quick tramp 
of horses was heard, and suddenly the head of a squadron 
was seen, as, with glancing helmets and glittering equip- 
ments, they turned off the high-road and entered the wood. 

“Here they come! — here come the troops!” was now 
heard on every side, and all question of the duel was for- 
gotten in the greater interest inspired by the arrival of the 
others. The sight was strikingly picturesque; for as they 
rode up the order to dismount was given, and in an instant 
the whole squadron was at work picqueting and unsaddling 
their horses ; forage was shaken out before the weary and 
hungry beasts, kits were unpacked, cooking utensils produced, 
and every one busy in preparing for the bivouac. An infan- 
try column followed close upon the others, which was again 
succeeded by two batteries of field-artillery and some squad- 
rons of heavy dragoons ; and now the whole wood, far and 
near, was crammed with soldiers, wagons, caissons, and 
camp equipage. 


76 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


To me the interest of the scene was never-ending, — life, 
bustle, and gayety on every side. The reckless pleasantry 
of the camp, too, seemed elevated by the warlike accompani- 
ments of the picture, — the caparisoned horses, the brass 
guns, blackened on many a battle-field, the weather-seamed 
faces of the hardy soldiers themselves, all conspiring to excite 
a high enthusiasm for the career. 

Most of the equipments were new and strange to my eyes. 
I had never before seen the grenadiers of the Republican 
Guard, with their enormous shakos, and their long-flapped 
vests, descending to the middle of the thigh ; neither had I 
seen the Hussars de la mort, in their richly-braided uniform 
of black, and their long hair curled in ringlets at either side 
of the face. The cuirassiers, too, with their low cocked hats, 
and straight black feathers, as well as the Portes Drapeaux, 
whose brilliant uniforms, all slashed with gold, seemed 
scarcely in keeping with yellow-topped boots, — all were 
now seen by me for the first time. But of all the figures 
which amused me most by its singularity was that of a 
woman, who, in a short frock-coat and a low-crowned hat, 
carried a little barrel at her side, and led an ass loaded with 
two similar but rather larger casks. Her air and gait were 
perfectly soldier-like ; and as she passed the different posts 
and sentries, she saluted them in true military fashion. I 
was not long to remain in ignorance of her vocation nor her 
name, for scarcely did she pass a group without stopping to 
dispense a wonderful cordial that she carried ; and then I 
heard the familiar title of La Mere Madou, uttered in every 
form of panegyric. 

She was a short, stoutly-built figure, somewhat past the 
middle of life, but without any impairment of activity in her 
movements. A pleasing countenance, with good teeth and 
black eyes, a merry voice and a ready tongue, were qualities 
more than sufficient to make her a favorite with the sol- 
diers, whom I found she had followed to more than one 
battle-field. 

“ Peste!” cried an old grenadier, as he spat out the 
liquor on the ground. “ This is one of those sweet things 
they make in Holland ; it smacks of treacle and bad 
lemons.” 























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































#■ 






THE ARMY SIXTY YEARS SINCE. 1 


77 


“Ah, Grognard!” said she laughing, “thou art more 
used to corn-brandy, with a clove of garlic in’t than to 
good curagoa.” 

“What, curagoa! M&re Madou, hast got curagoa there?” 
cried a gray-whiskered captain, as he turned on his saddle at 
the word. 

“Yes, mon capitaine , and such as no burgomaster ever 
drank better ; ” and she filled out a little glass and presented 
it gracefully to him. 

“ Encore ! ma bonne Mere ” said he, as he wiped his thick 
mustache ; 4 4 that liquor is another reason for extending the 
blessings of liberty to the brave Dutch.” 

“Didn’t I tell you so?” said she, refilling the glass; 
44 but, holloa, there goes Gregoire at full speed. Ah, scoun- 
drels that ye are, I see what ye ’ve done ! ” And so was it ; 
some of the wild young voltigeur fellows had fastened a 
lighted furze-bush to the beast’s tail, and had set him at a 
gallop through the very middle of the encampment, upsetting 
tents, scattering cooking-pans, and tumbling the groups, as 
they sat, in every direction. 

The confusion was tremendous ; for the picqueted horses 
jumped about, and some breaking loose, galloped here and 
there, while others set off with half-unpacked wagons, scat- 
tering their loading as they went. 

It was only when the blazing furze had dropped off that 
the cause of the whole mischance would suffer himself to be 
captured and led quietly back to his mistress. Half crying 
with joy, and still wild with anger, she kissed the beast and 
abused her tormentors by turns. 

“Cannoniers that ye are,” she cried, “ ma foil you’ll 
have little taste for fire when the day comes that ye should 
face it ! Pauvre Gregoire, they ’ve left thee a tail like a 
tirailleur’s feather ! Plagues light on the thieves that did it ! 
Come here, boy,” said she, addressing me, 44 hold the bridle ; 
what ’s thy corps, lad? ” 

“I have none now; I only followed the soldiers from 
Paris.” 

44 Away with thee, street runner! away with thee, then ! ” 
said she, contemptuously; 44 there are no pockets to pick 
here ; and if there were, thou ’d lose thy ears for the doing 


T8 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


it. Be off, then, back with thee to Paris and all its villanies ! 
There are twenty thousand of thy trade there, but there ’s 
work for ye all.” 

“ Nay, M&re, don’t be harsh with the boy,” said a soldier; 
44 you can see by his coat that his heart is with us.” 

“And he stole that, I’ll be sworn,” said she, pulling me 
round by the arm, full in front of her. “Answer me, 
gamin, where did’st find that old tawdry jacket?” 

“ I got it in a place where, if they had hold of thee and 
thy bad tongue, it would fare worse with thee than thou 
thinkest,” said I, maddened by the imputed theft and inso- 
lence together. 

“And where may that be, young slip of the galleys?” 
cried she, angrily. 

“ In the Prison du Temple.” 

“ Is that their livery, then?” said she, laughing and point- 
ing at me with ridicule, “or is it a family dress made after 
thy father’s ? ” 

“My father wore a soldier’s coat, and bravely, too,” said 
I, with difficulty restraining the tears that rose to my eyes. 

4 4 In what regiment, boy ? ” asked the soldier who spoke 
before. 

44 In one that exists no longer,” said I, sadly, and not 
wishing to allude to a service that would find but slight 
favor in republican ears. 

44 That must be the Twenty-fourth of the Line ; they were 
cut to pieces at Tongres.” 

“No, no, he’s thinking of the Ninth, that got so roughly 
handled at Fontenoy,” said another. 

44 Of neither,” said I ; 44 1 am speaking of those who have 
left nothing but a name behind them, the Garde du Corps 
of the king.” 

44 Voila!” cried Madou, clapping her hands in astonish- 
ment at my impertinence; “there’s an aristocrat for you! 
Look at him, mes braves ! it ’s not every day we have the 
grand seigneurs condescending to come amongst us ! You 
can learn something of courtly manners from the polished 
descendant of our nobility. Say, boy, art a count or a baron, 
or perhaps a duke ? ” 

“Make way there — out of the road, M&re Madou,” cried 


THE ARMY SIXTY YEARS SINCE. 


79 


a dragoon, curveting his horse in such a fashion as almost to 
upset ass and cantini&re together, 44 the staff is coming.” 

The mere mention of the word sent numbers off in full 
speed to their quarters ; and now all was haste and bustle to 
prepare for the coming inspection. The M&re’s endeavors 
to drag her beast along were not very successful ; for, with 
the peculiar instinct of his species, the more necessity there 
was of speed the lazier he became ; and as every one had his 
own concerns to look after, she was left to her own unaided 
efforts to drive him forward. 

“ Thou ’It have a day in prison if thou ’rt found here, 
M&re Madou,” said a dragoon, as he struck the ass with the 
flat of his sabre. 

“I know it well,” cried she, passionately; “but I have 
none to help me. Come here, lad ; be good-natured, and 
forget what passed. Take his bridle while I whip him 
on.” 

I was at first disposed to refuse, but her pitiful face and 
sad plight made me think better of it ; and I seized the bridle 
at once ; but just as I had done so, the escort galloped for- 
ward, and the dragoons coming on the flank of the miserable 
beast, over he went, barrels and all, crushing me beneath 
him as he fell. 

“Is the boy hurt?” were the last words I heard, as I 
fainted ; but a few minutes after I found myself seated on 
the grass, while a soldier was stanching the blood that ran 
freely from a cut in my forehead. 

“It is a trifle, General, — a mere scratch,” said a young 
officer to an old man on horseback beside him, 4 4 and the leg 
is not broken.” 

“Glad of it,” said the old officer; “casualties are in- 
sufferable, except before an enemy. Send the lad to his 
regiment.” 

44 He’s only a camp follower, General. He does not 
belong to us.” 

44 There, my lad, take this, then, and make thy way back 
to Paris,” said the old general, as he threw me a small piece 
of money. 

I looked up, and, straight before me, saw the same officer 
who had given me the assignat the night before. 


80 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ General Lacoste ! ” cried I, in delight, for I thought him 
already a friend. 

“ How is this — have I an acquaintance here?” said he, 
smiling ; ‘ ‘ on my life it ’s the young rogue I met this morn- 
ing. Eh ! art not thou the artillery driver I spoke to at the 
barrack ? ” 

“Yes, General, the same.” 

“ Diantre! It seems fated, then, that we are not to part 
company so easily ; for hadst thou remained in Paris, lad, 
we had most probably never met again.” 

“ Ainsi, je suis bien tombe , General,” said I, punning 
upon my accident. 

He laughed heartily, less I suppose at the jest, which was 
a poor one, than at the cool impudence with which I uttered 
it ; and then turning to one of the staff, said, — 

“I spoke to Bertholet about this boy already; see that 
they take him in the Ninth. I say, my lad, what’s thy 
name?” 

“Tiernay, sir.” 

“Ay, to be sure, Tiernay. Well, Tiernay, thou shalt be 
a hussar, my man. See that I get no disgrace by the 
appointment.” 

I kissed his hand fervently, and the staff rode forward, 
leaving me the happiest heart that beat in all that crowded 
host. 


CHAPTER VII. 


A PASSING ACQUAINTANCE. 

If the guide who is to lead us on a long and devious track 
stops at every by-way, following out each path that seems 
to invite a ramble or suggest a halt, we naturally might feel 
distrustful of his safe conduct, and uneasy at the prospect of 
the road before us. In the same way may the reader be dis- 
posed to fear that he who descends to slight and trivial cir- 
cumstances will scarcely have time for events which ought 
to occupy a wider space in his reminiscences ; and for this 
reason I am bound to apologize for the seeming transgres- 
sion of my last chapter. Most true it is that were I to relate 
the entire of my life with a similar diffuseness, my memoir 
would extend to a length far beyond what I intend it to 
occupy. Such, however, is very remote from my thoughts. 
I have dwelt, with perhaps something of prolixity, upon the 
soldier-life and characteristics of a past day, because I shall 
yet have to speak of changes, without which the contrast 
would be inappreciable ; but I have also laid stress upon an 
incident trivial in itself, because it formed an event in 
my own fortunes. It was thus, in fact, that I became a 
soldier. 

Now, the man who carries a musket in the ranks may very 
reasonably be deemed but a small ingredient of the mass 
that forms an army ; and in our day his thoughts, hopes, 
fears, and ambitions are probably as unknown and uncared 
for as the precise spot of earth that yielded the ore from 
which his own weapon was smelted. This is not only rea- 
sonable, but it is right. In the time of which I am now 
speaking it was far otherwise. The Republic in extinguish- 
ing a class had elevated the individual; and now each, in 
whatever station he occupied, felt himself qualified to enter- 

6 


82 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


tain opinions and express sentiments which, because they 
were his own, he presumed to be national. The idlers of the 
streets discussed the deepest questions of politics ; the sol- 
diers talked of war with all the presumption of consummate 
generalship. The great operations of a campaign, and the 
various qualities of different commanders, were the daily 
subjects of dispute in the camp. Upon one topic only were 
all agreed ; and there, indeed, our unanimity repaid all 
previous discordance. We deemed France the only civilized 
nation of the globe, and reckoned that people thrice happy 
who, by any contingency of fortune, engaged our sympathy, 
or procured the distinction of our presence in arms. We 
were the heaven-born disseminators of freedom throughout 
Europe ; the sworn enemies of kingly domination ; and the 
missionaries of a political creed which was not alone to 
ennoble mankind, but to render its condition eminently 
happy and prosperous. 

There could not be an easier lesson to learn than this, and 
particularly when dinned into your ears all day, and from 
every rank and grade around you. It was the programme 
of every message from the Directory ; it was the opening of 
every general order from the general ; it was the table-talk 
at your mess. The burthen of every song, the title of every 
military march performed by the regimental band, recalled 
it ; even the riding-master, as he followed the recruit around 
the weary circle, whip in hand, mingled the orders he uttered 
with apposite axioms upon republican grandeur. How I 
think I hear it still ! as the grim old quartermaster-sergeant, 
with his Alsatian accent and deep- toned voice, would call 
out, — 

“ Elbows back ! wrist lower and free from the side, — free, 
I say, as every citizen of a great Republic ! head erect, as 
a Frenchman has a right to carry it ! chest full out, like one 
who can breathe the air of heaven, and ask no leave from 
king or despot ! down with your heel, sir, — think that you 
crush a tyrant beneath it ! ” 

Such and such like were the running commentaries on 
equitation, till often I forgot whether the lesson had more 
concern with a seat on horseback or the great cause of mon- 
archy throughout Europe. I suppose, to use a popular phrase 


A PASSING ACQUAINTANCE. 


83 


of our own day, “the system worked well ; ” certainly the 
spirit of the army was unquestionable. From the grim old 
veteran, with snow-white mustache, to the beardless boy, 
there was but one hope and wish, — the glory of France. 
How they understood that glory, or in what it essentially 
consisted, is another and very different question. 

Enrolled as a soldier in the ninth regiment of Hussars, I 
accompanied that corps to Nancy, where at that time a large 
cavalry school was formed, and where the recruits from the 
different regiments were trained and managed before being 
sent forward to their destination. 

A taste for equitation, and a certain aptitude for catching 
up the peculiar character of the different horses, at once dis- 
tinguished me in the riding-school, and I was at last adopted 
by the riding-master of the regiment as a kind of aide to him 
in his walk. When I thus became a bold and skilful horse- 
man, my proficiency interfered with my promotion, for 
instead of accompanying my regiment I was detained at 
Nancy, and attached to the permanent staff of the cavalry 
school there. 

At first I asked for nothing better. It was a life of con- 
tinued pleasure and excitement ; and while I daily acquired 
knowledge of a subject which interested me deeply, I grew 
tall and strong of limb, and with that readiness in danger, 
and that cool collectedness in moments of difficulty, that are 
so admirably taught by the accidents and mischances of a 
cavalry riding-school. 

The most vicious and unmanageable beasts from the 
Limousin were often sent to us, and when any of these was 
deemed peculiarly untractable, “ Give him to Tiernay,” was 
the last appeal, before abandoning him as hopeless. I ’m 
certain I owe much of the formation of my character to my 
life at this period, and that my love of adventure, my taste 
for excitement, my obstinate resolution to conquer a diffi- 
culty, my inflexible perseverance when thwarted, and my 
eager anxiety for praise were all picked up amid the saw- 
dust and tan of the riding-school. How long I might have 
continued satisfied with such triumphs, and content to be the 
wonder of the freshly-joined conscripts, I know not, when 
accident, or something very like it, decided the question. 


84 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


It was a calm, delicious evening in April, in the year after 
I had entered the school, that I was strolling alone on the 
old fortified wall, which, once a strong redoubt, was the 
favorite walk of the good citizens of Nancy. I was some- 
what tired with the fatigues of the day, and sat down to rest 
under one of the acacia-trees, whose delicious blossom was 
already scenting the air. The night was still and noiseless ; 
not a man moved along the wall ; the hum of the city was 
gradually subsiding, and the lights in the cottages over the 
plain told that the laborer was turning homeward from his 
toil. It was an hour to invite calm thoughts, and so I fell 
a-dreaming over the tranquil pleasures of a peasant’s life, 
and the unruffled peace of an existence passed amid scenes 
that were endeared by years of intimacy. 44 How happily,” 
thought I, “time must steal on in these quiet spots, where 
the strife and struggle of war are unknown, and even the 
sounds of conflict never reach ! ” Suddenly my musings 
were broken in upon by hearing the measured tramp of 
cavalry, as at a walk ; a long column wound their way along 
the zig-zag approaches, which by many a redoubt and fosse, 
over many a draw-bridge, and beneath many a strong arch 
led to the gates of Nancy. The loud, sharp call of a trum- 
pet was soon heard, and, after a brief parley, the massive 
gates of the fortress were opened for the troops to enter. 
From the position I occupied exactly over the gate, I could 
not only see the long, dark line of armed men as they 
passed, but also hear the colloquy which took place as they 
entered. 

‘ 4 What regiment ? ” 

“Detachments of the Twelfth Dragoons and the Twenty- 
second Chasseurs-a-Cheval.” 

“ Where from? ” 

“ Valence.” 

“Where to?” 

44 The army of the Rhine.” 

44 Pass on ! ” 

And with the words the ringing sound of the iron-shod 
horses was heard beneath the vaulted entrance. As they 
issued from beneath the long deep arch, the men were formed 
in line along two sides of a wide Place inside the walls, 


A PASSING ACQUAINTANCE. 


85 


where, with that despatch that habit teaches, the billets were 
speedily distributed, and the parties “told off” in squads 
for different parts of the city. The force seemed a con- 
siderable one, and with all the celerity they could employ 
the billeting occupied a long time. As I watched the groups 
moving off, I heard the direction given to one party, 
“Cavalry School — Rue de Lorraine.” The young officer 
who commanded the group took a direction exactly the 
reverse of the right one ; and hastening down from the ram- 
part, I at once overtook them, and explained the mistake. I 
offered them my guidance to the place, which being willingly 
accepted, I walked along at their side. 

Chatting as we went, I heard that the dragoons were 
hastily withdrawn from La Vendee to form part of the force 
under General Hoche. The young sous-lieutenant, a mere 
boy of my own age, had already served in two campaigns, 
in Holland and the south of France ; had been wounded in 
the Loire, and received his grade of officer at the hands of 
Hoche himself on the field of battle. 

He could speak of no other name, — Hoche was the hero 
of all his thoughts ; his gallantry, his daring, his military 
knowledge, his coolness in danger, his impetuosity in attack, 
his personal amiability, the mild gentleness of his manner, 
were themes the young soldier loved to dwell on ; and how- 
ever pressed by me to talk of war and its chances, he in- 
evitably came back to the one loved theme, — his general. 

When the men were safely housed for the night, I invited 
my new friend to my own quarters, where, having provided 
the best entertainment I could afford, we passed more than 
half the night -in chatting. There was nothing above me- 
diocrity in the look or manner of the youth ; his descriptions 
of what he had seen were unmarked by anything glowing or 
picturesque ; his observations did not evince either a quick 
or a reflective mind, — and yet over this mass of common- 
place enthusiasm for his leader had shed a rich glow, like a 
gorgeous sunlight on a landscape, that made all beneath it 
seem brilliant and splendid. 

“ And now,” said he, after an account of the last action 
he had seen, “and now, enough of myself; let’s talk of 
thee. Where hast thou been?” 


86 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ Here ! ” said I, with a sigh, and in a voice that shame 
had almost made inaudible. “Here, here, at Nancy.” 

“Not always here? ” 

“ Just so. Always here.” 

“And what doing, mon cher? Thou art not one of the 
Municipal Guard, surely ? ” 

“No,” said I, smiling sadly, “I belong to the ‘ Ecole 
d’Equitation.’ ” 

“Ah, that’s it,” said he, in somewhat of confusion; “I 
always thought they selected old serjeants en retraite , worn 
out veterans, and wounded fellows for riding-school duty.” 

“ Most of ours are such,” said I, my shame increasing at 
every word; “but somehow they chose me also, and I had 
no will in the matter — ” 

“No will in the matter, parbleu ! and why not? Every 
man in France has a right to meet the enemy in the field. 
Thou art a soldier, a hussar of the Ninth, a brave and gal- 
lant corps ; and art to be told that thy comrades have the 
road to fame and honor open to them, whilst thou art to 
mope away life like an invalided drummer? It is too gross 
an indignity, my boy, and must not be borne. Away with 
you to-morrow at daybreak to the Etat Major ; ask to see 
the Commandant. You’re in luck, too, for our colonel is 
with him now, and he is sure to back your request. Say 
that you served in the school to oblige your superiors, but 
that you cannot see all chances of distinction lost to you 
forever by remaining there. They ’ve given you no grade 
yet, I see,” continued he, looking at my arm. 

“ None ; I am still a private.” 

‘ 1 And I a sous-lieutenant, just because I have been where 
powder was flashing ! You can ride well, of course? ” 

“ I defy the wildest Limousin to shake me in- my saddle.” 

“ And, as a swordsman, what are you?” 

“ Gros Jean calls me his best pupil.” 

“Ah, true! you have Gros Jean here, the best sabreur 
in France ! And here you are, — a horseman, and one of 
Gros Jean’s eUves , rotting away life in Nancy ! Have you 
any friends in the service ? ” 

“ Not one.” 

“ Not one ! Nor relations, nor connections? ” 


A PASSING ACQUAINTANCE. 


87 


“None. I am Irish by descent. My family are only 
French by one generation.” 

“Irish! Ah! that’s lucky too,” said he. “Our colonel 
is an Irishman. His name is Mahon. You ’re certain of 
getting your leave now. I ’ll present you to him to-morrow. 
We are to halt two days here, and before that is over I hope 
you ’ll have made your last caracole in the riding-school of 
Nancy.” 

“But, remember,” cried I, “that although Irish by 
family, I have never been there. I know nothing of either 
the people or the language, and do not present me to the 
general as his countryman.” 

“I’ll call you by your name, as a soldier of the Ninth 
Hussars, and leave you to make out your claim as country- 
men, if you please, together.” 

This course was now agreed upon, and after some further 
talking, my friend, refusing all my offers of a bed, coolly 
wrapped his cloak about him, and, with his head on the 
table, fell fast asleep long before I had ceased thinking over 
his stories and his adventures in camp and battle-field. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“ TRONCHON.” 

My duties in the riding-school were always over before mid- 
day ; and as noon was the hour appointed by the young 
lieutenant to present me to his colonel, I was ready by that 
time, and anxiously awaiting his arrival. I had done my 
best to smarten up my uniform, and make all my accoutre- 
ments bright and glistening. My scabbard was polished 
like silver, the steel front of my shako shone like a mirror, 
and the tinsel lace of my jacket had undergone a process of 
scrubbing and cleaning that threatened its very existence. 
My smooth chin and beardless upper lip, however, gave me 
a degree of distress that all other deficiencies failed to inflict. 
I can dare to say that no mediaeval gentleman’s bald spot 
ever cost him one-half the misery as did my lack of 
mustache occasion me. “A hussar without beard, — as 
well without spurs or sabretasche ; ” a tambour major with- 
out his staff, a cavalry charger without a tail, could n’t be 
more ridiculous ; and there was that old sergeant of the rid- 
ing-school, Tronchon, with a beard that might have made a 
mattress ! How the goods of this world are unequally 
distributed, thought I ! still, why might he not spare me a 
little — a very little would suffice — just enough to give the 
“ air hussar ” to my countenance. He’s an excellent crea- 
ture, the kindest old fellow in the world ; I ’m certain he ’d 
not refuse me. To be sure, the beard is a red one, and 
pretty much like bell-wire in consistence ; no matter, better 
that than this girlish smooth chin I now wear. 

Tronchon was spelling out the “Moniteur’s” account of 
the Italian campaign as I entered his room, and found it ex- 
cessively difficult to get back from the Alps and Appenines 
to the humble request I preferred. 


TRONCHON. 1 


89 


“Poor fellows!” muttered he, “four battles in seven 
days, without stores of any kind or rations — almost without 
bread ; and here comest thou, whining because thou has n’t 
a beard ! ” 

“If I were not a hussar — ” 

“Bah!” said he, interrupting, “what of that? Where 
should’st thou have had thy baptism of blood, boy? Art a 
child, nothing more.” 

“ I shared my quarters last night with one not older, 
Tronchon; and he was an officer, and had seen many a 
battle-field.” 

“I know that, too,” said the veteran, with an expression 
of impatience ; “ and that General Bonaparte will give every 
boy his epaulettes before an old and tried soldier.” 

“ It was not Bonaparte. It was — ” 

‘ 4 1 care not who promoted the lad ; the system is just the 
same with them all. It is no longer, 4 Where have you 
served, what have you seen?’ but, 4 Can you read glibly, 
can you write faster than speak, have you learned to take 
towns upon paper, and attack a breastwork with a rule and 
a pair of compasses ? ’ This is what they called la genie ! 
La genie , — ha ! ha ! ha ! ” cried he, laughing heartily ; 
“ that ’s the name old women used to give the devil when I 
was a boy.” 

It was with the greatest difficulty I could get him back 
from these disagreeable reminiscences to the object of my 
visit, and even then I could hardly persuade him that I was 
serious in asking the loan of a beard. The prayer of my 
petition being once understood, he discussed the project 
gravely enough ; but to my surprise he was far more struck 
by the absurd figure lie should cut with his diminished mane 
than 1 with my mock mustache. 

44 There ’s not a child in Nancy won’t laugh at me ; they ’ll 
cry, 4 There goes old Tronchon ! he ’s like Kleber’s charger, 
which the German cut the tail off to make a shako 
plume.’ ” 

I assured him that he might as well pretend to miss one 
tree in the forest of Fontainebleau ; that after furnishing a 
squadron like myself, his would be still the first beard in the 
Republic ; and at last he yielded, and gave in. 


90 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


Never did a little damsel of the nursery array her doll with 
more delighted looks, and gaze upon her handiwork with 
more self-satisfaction, than did old Tronchon survey me, as 
with the aid of a little gum he decorated my lip with a stiff 
line of his iron-red beard. 

“ Diantre l ” cried he, in ecstasy, “ if thou be n’t something 
like a man after all! Who would have thought it would 
have made such a change? Thou might pass for one that 
saw real smoke and real fire, any day, lad. Ay ! thou hast 
another look in thine eye, and another way to carry thy head, 
now ! Trust me, thou ’It look a different fellow on the left of 
the squadron.” 

I began to think so too, as I looked at myself in the small 
triangle of a looking-glass which decorated Tronchon’s wall, 
under a picture of Kellerman, his first captain. I fancied 
that the improvement was most decided. I thought that, 
bating a little over-ferocity, a something verging upon the 
cruel, I was about as perfect a type of the hussar as need be. 
My jacket seemed to fit tighter, my pelisse hung more jaun- 
tily, my shako sat more saucily on one side of my head, my 
sabre banged more proudly against my boot, my very spurs 
jangled with a pleasanter music, — and all because a little 
hair bristled over my lip, and curled in two spiral flourishes 
across my cheek ! I longed to see the effect of my changed 
appearance, as I walked down the Place Carri&re, or saun- 
tered into the cafe, where my comrades used to assemble. 
What will Mademoiselle Josephine say, thought I, as I ask 
for my petite v&rre, caressing my mustache thus ! Not a 
doubt of it, what a fan is to a woman a beard is to a soldier, 
— a something to fill up the pauses in conversation, by 
blandly smoothing with the finger or fiercely curling at the 
point. 

“ And so thou art going to ask for thy grade, Maurice?” 
broke in Tronchon, after a long silence. 

“Not at all. I am about to petition for employment upon 
active service. I don’t seek promotion till I have deserved 
it.” 

“Better still, lad. I was eight years myself in the ranks 
before they gave me the stripe on my arm. Parbleu! the 
Germans had given me some three or four with the sabre 
before that time.” 


TRONCHON. 1 


91 


“ Do you think they ’ll refuse me, Tronchon? ” 

“Not if thou go the right way about it, lad. Thou 
mustn’t fancy it’s like asking leave from the captain to 
spend the evening in a guinguette, or to go to the play with 
thy sweetheart. No, no, boy. It must be done en r&gle. 
Thou ’It have to wait on the general at his quarters at four 
o’clock, when he ‘ receives,’ as they call it. Thou ’It be 
there, mayhap, an hour, — ay, two or three belike, — and 
after all, perhaps, won’t see him that day at all ! I was a 
week trying to catch Kellerman, and at last he only spoke to 
me going down stairs with his staff, — 

“ ‘ Eh, Tronchon, another bullet in thy old carcass? 
Want a furlough to get strong again, eh?’ 

“ ‘No, colonel; all sound this time. I want to be a ser- 
geant ; I ’m twelve years and four months corporal.’ 

“ ‘ Slow work, too,’ said he, laughing, ‘ ain’t it, Charles?’ 
and he .pinched one of his young officers by the cheek. 
‘ Let old Tronchon have his grade ; and I say, my good 
fellow,’ said he to me, ‘ don’t come plaguing me any more 
about promotion till I’m General of Division. You hear 
that ? ’ 

“Well, he’s got his step since; but I never teased him 
after.” 

“ And why so, Tronchon? ” said I. 

“ I’ll tell thee, lad,” whispered he, in a low confidential 
tone, as if imparting a secret well worth the hearing. 
“They can find fellows every day fit for lieutenants and 
chefs d’escadron. Parhleu ! they meet with them in every 
cafe , in every ‘ billiard ’ you enter ; but a sergeant ! Maurice, 
one that drills his men on parade, can dress them like a 
wall, see that every kit is well packed and every cartouche 
well filled, who knows every soul in his company as he 
knows the buckles of his own sword-belt, — that ’s what one 
should not chance upon in haste. It ’s easy enough to 
manoeuvre the men, Maurice ; but to make them, boy, to 
fashion the fellows so that they be like the pieces of a great 
machine, — that’s the real labor, that’s soldiering indeed.” 

‘ ‘ And you say I must write a petition, Tronchon ? ” said 
I, more anxious to bring him back to my own affairs than 
listen to these speculations of his. “ How shall I do it? ” 


92 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ Sit down there, lad, and I’ll tell thee. I’ve done the 
thing some scores of times, and know the words as well as I 
once knew my ‘Pater.’ Parbleu! I often wish I could 
remember that now, just to keep me from gloomy thoughts 
when I sit alone of an evening.” 

It was not a little to his astonishment, but still more to 
his delight, that I told the poor fellow I could help to refresh 
his memory, knowing, as I did, every word of the litanies by 
heart; and, accordingly, it was agreed on that I should 
impart religious instruction in exchange for the secular know- 
ledge he w r as conferring upon me. 

“As for the petition,” said Tronchon, seating himself 
opposite to me at the table, “ it is soon done ; for mark me, 
lad, these things must always be short; if thou be long- 
winded, they put thee away, and tell some of the clerks to 
look after thee, and there ’s an end of it. Be brief, there- 
fore ; and next, be legible, — write in a good, large round 
hand, just as if thou wert speaking, thou wouldst talk with 
a fine, clear, distinct voice. Well, then, begin thus : 
‘ Republic of Prance, one and invincible ! ’ Make a flourish 
round that, lad, as if it came freely from the pen. When a 
man writes ‘ France ! ’ he should do it as he whirls his sabre 
round his head in a charge ! Ay, just so.” 

“I’m ready, Tronchon, go on.” 

“ ‘ Mon General /’ Nay, nay, General mustn’t be as 
large as France, — yes, that ’s better. ‘ The undersigned, 
whose certificates of service and conduct are herewith 
enclosed.’ ” 

“Stay, stop a moment, Tronchon; don’t forget that I 
have got neither one nor t’ other.” 

“No matter; I’ll make thee out both. Where was I? 
Ay, ‘ herewith enclosed ; and whose wounds, as the accom- 
panying report will show — ’ ” 

“ Wounds ! I never received one.” 

“No matter, I’ll — eh! what? Feu d’enfer! how stupid 
I am ! What have I been thinking of ? Why, boy, it was a 
sick-furlough I was about to ask for, — the only kind of 
petition I have ever had to write in a life long.” 

“ And I am asking for active service.” 

“ Ha ! That came without asking for in my case.” 


“ TRONCHON.’ 


93 


“Then what’s to be done, Tronchon? Clearly, this 
won’t do.” 

He nodded sententiously an assent, and, after a moment’s 
rumination, said, — 

“ It strikes me, lad, there can be no need of begging for 
that which usually comes unlooked for; but if thou don’t 
choose to wait for thy billet for t’ other world, but must go 
and seek it, the best way will be to up and tell the general as 
much.” 

“ That was exactly my intention.” 

“If he asks thee 4 Canst ride?’ just say, ‘Old Tronchon 
taught me ; ’ he ’ll be one of the young hands, indeed, if he 
don’t know that name ! And mind, lad, have no whims or 
caprices about whatever service he names thee for, even 
wer’t the infantry itself ! It ’s a hard word, that, I know it 
well ! but a man must make up his mind for anything and 
everything. Wear any coat, go anywhere, face any enemy 
thou ’rt ordered, and have none of those new-fangled notions 
about this general or that army. Be a good soldier and a 
good comrade. Share thy kit and thy purse to the last sous, 
for it will not only be generous in thee, but that so long as 
thou hoardest not thou ’It never be over eager for pillage. 
Mind these things, and with a stout heart and a sharp sabre, 
Maurice 4 tu ira loin.’ Yes, I tell thee again, lad, 4 tu ira 
loin.’ ” 

I give these three words as he said them, for they have 
rung in my ears throughout all my life long* In moments 
of gratified ambition, in the glorious triumph of success, 
they have sounded to me like the confirmed predictions of 
one who foresaw my elevation in less prosperous hours. 
When fortune has looked dark and lowering, they have been 
my comforter and support, telling me not to be downcast or 
depressed, that the season of sadness would soon pass away, 
and the road to fame and honor again open before me. 

44 You really think so, Tronchon? You think that I shall 
be something yet? ” 

4 4 4 Tu ira loin,’ I say,” repeated he emphatically, and with 
the air of an oracle who would not suffer further interroga- 
tion. I therefore shook his hand cordially, and set out to 
pay my visit to the general. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A SCRAPE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 

When I reached the quarters of the Etat Major, I found the 
great courtyard of the hotel crowded with soldiers of 
every rank and arm of the service. Some were newly- 
joined recruits waiting for the orders to be forwarded to 
their respective regiments, some were invalids just issued 
from the hospital, some were sick and wounded on their way 
homeward. There were sergeants with billet rolls and 
returns and court-martial sentences, adjutants with regi- 
mental documents hastening hither and thither; mounted 
orderlies, too, continually came and went; all was bustle, 
movement, and confusion. Officers in staff uniforms called 
out the orders from the different windows, and despatches 
were sent off here and there with hot haste. The building 
was the ancient palace of the Dukes of Lorraine, and a 
splendid fountain of white marble in the centre of the 
Cour still showed the proud armorial bearings of that 
princely house. Around the sculptured base of this now 
were seated groups of soldiers, their war-worn looks and 
piled arms contrasting strangely enough with the great 
porcelain vases of flowering plants that still decorated the 
rich plateau. Shakos, helmets, and great-coats were huno- 
upon the orange-trees. The heavy boots of the cuirassier, 
the white leather apron of the sapeur, were drying along 
the marble benches of the terrace. The richly- traceried 
veining of gilt iron-work which separated the court from 
the garden was actually covered with belts, swords, 
bayonets, and horse-gear, in every stage and process of 
cleaning. Within the garden itself, however, all was silent 
and still, — two sentries, who paced backwards and for- 
wards beneath the grille, showing that the spot was to be 


A SCRAPE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 


95 


respected by those whose careless gestures and reckless air 
betrayed how little influence the mere “ genius of the place ” 
would exercise over them. 

To me the interest of everything was increasing; and 
whether I lingered to listen to the raw remarks of the new 
recruit, in wonder at all he saw, or stopped to hear the 
campaigning stories of the old soldiers of the army, I never 
wearied. Few, if any, knew whither they were going, — 
perhaps to the north to join the army of the Sambre, 
perhaps to the east to the force upon the Rhine ; it might 
be that they were destined for Italy, — none cared ! Mean- 
while, at every moment, detachments moved off, and their 
places were filled by fresh arrivals, all dusty and way-worn 
from the march. Some had scarcely time to eat a hurried 
morsel when they were called on to “ fall in,” and again the 
word ‘ ‘ forward ” was given. Such of the infantry as 
appeared too weary for the march were sent on in great 
charrettes drawn by six or eight horses, and capable of 
carrying forty men in each; and of these there seemed to 
be no end. No sooner was one detachment away than 
another succeeded. Whatever their destination, one thing 
seemed evident, — the urgency that called them was beyond 
the common. For a while I forgot all about myself in the 
greater interest of the scene ; but then came the thought that 
I too should have my share in this onward movement, and 
now I set out to seek for my young friend the u Sous- 
Lieu tenant.” I had not asked his name, but his regiment I 
knew to be the Twenty-second Chasseurs-a-Cheval. The 
uniform was light green, and easily enough to be recognized ; 
yet nowhere was it to be seen. There were cuirassiers and 
hussars, heavy dragoons and carabiniers, in abundance, — 
everything, in short, but what I sought. 

At last I asked of an old quartermaster where the Twenty- 
second were quartered, and heard to my utter dismay that 
they had marched that morning at eight o’ clock. There 
were two more squadrons expected to arrive at noon, but the 
orders were that they were to proceed without further halt. 

“ And whither to?” asked I. 

“ To Treves, on the Moselle,” said he, and turned away as 
if he would not be questioned further. It was true that my 


96 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


young friend could not have been much of a patron, yet the 
loss of him was deeply felt by me. He was to have intro- 
duced me to his colonel, who probably might have obtained 
the leave I desired at once ; and now I knew no one, not one 
even to advise me how to act. I sat down upon a bench to 
think, but could resolve on nothing ; the very sight of that 
busy scene had now become a reproach to me. There were 
the veterans of a hundred battles hastening forward again 
to the field ; there were the young soldiers just flushed with 
recent victory; even the peasant boys were “eager for the 
fray ; ” but I alone was to have no part in the coming glory. 
The enthusiasm of all around only served to increase and 
deepen my depression. There was not one there, from the 
old and war-worn veteran of the ranks to the merest boy, 
with whom I would not gladly have exchanged fortunes. 
Some hours passed over in these gloomy reveries, and when 
I looked up from the stupor my own thoughts had thrown 
over me, the Cour was almost empty. A few sick sol- 
diers waiting for their billets of leave, a few recruits not 
yet named to any corps, and a stray orderly or two standing 
beside his horse were all that remained. 

I arose to go away, but in my pre-occupation of mind, 
instead of turning toward the street, I passed beneath a large 
archway into another court of the building, somewhat 
smaller, but much richer in decoration and ornament than 
the outer one. After spending some time admiring the 
quaint devices and grim heads which peeped out from all 
the architraves and friezes, my eye was caught by a low, 
arched doorway, in the middle of which was a small railed 
window, like the grille of a convent. I approached, and 
perceived that it led into a garden by a long, narrow walk 
of clipped yew, dense and upright as a wall. The trimly- 
raked gravel and the smooth surface of the hedge showed 
the care bestowed on the grounds to be a wide contrast to 
the neglect exhibited in the mansion itself ; a narrow border of 
hyacinths and carnations ran along either side of the walk, 
the gorgeous blossoms appearing in strong relief against the 
background of dark foliage. 

The door, as I leaned against it, gently yielded to the 
pressure of my arm, and almost without knowing it I found 


A SCRAPE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 


97 


myself standing within the precincts of the garden. My 
first impulse, of course, was to retire and close the door 
again ; but somehow, I never knew exactly why, I could not 
resist the desire to see a little more of a scene so tempting. 
There was no mark of footsteps on the gravel, and I thought 
it likely the garden was empty. On I went, therefore, at 
first with cautious and uncertain steps, at last with more 
confidence, for as I issued from the hedge-walk and reached 
an open space beyond, the solitude seemed unbroken. Fruit- 
trees, loaded with their produce, stood in a closely-shaven 
lawn, through which a small stream meandered, its banks 
planted with daffodils and water-lilies. Some pheasants 
moved about through the grass, but without alarm at my 
presence ; while a young fawn boldly came over to me, and 
although in seeming disappointment at not finding an old 
friend, continued to walk beside me as I went. 

The grounds appeared of great extent; paths led off in 
every direction ; and while in some places I could perceive 
the glittering roof and sides of a conservatory, in others 
the humble culture of a vegetable garden was to be seen. 
There was a wondrous fascination in the calm and tranquil 
solitude around ; and coming, as it did, so immediately after 
the busy bustle of the “ soldiering,” I soon not only forgot 
that I was an intruder there, but suffered myself to wander 
“ fancy free,” following out the thoughts each object sug- 
gested. I believe at that moment, if the choice were given 
me, I would rather have been the “Adam of that Eden” 
than the proudest of those generals that ever led a column 
to victory ! Fortunately, or unfortunately — it would not be 
easy to decide which — the alternative was not open to hie. 
It was while I was still musing, that I found myself at the 
foot of a little eminence, on which stood a tower whose 
height and position showed it had been built for the view it 
afforded over a vast tract of country. Even from where I 
stood, at its base, I could see over miles and miles of a great 
plain, with the main roads leading towards the north and 
eastward. This spot was also the boundary of the grounds, 
and a portion of the old boulevard of the town formed the 
defence against the open country beyond. It was a deep 
ditch, with sides of sloping sward cropped neatly and kept 

7 


98 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


in trimmest order, but from its depth and width forming 
a fence of a formidable kind. I was peering cautiously 
down into the abyss, when I heard a voice so close to my 
ear that I started with surprise. I listened, and perceived 
that the speaker was directly above me; and leaning over 
the battlements at the top of the tower. 

“You’re quite right,” cried he, as he adjusted a telescope 
to his eye, and directed his view towards the plain. “He 
has gone wrong ! He has taken the Strasbourg road instead 
of the northern one.” 

An exclamation of anger followed these words ; and now 
I saw the telescope passed to another hand, and to my 
astonishment that of a lady. 

“Was there ever stupidity like that? He saw the map 
like the others, and yet — Parbleu ! it ’s too bad ! ” 

I could perceive that a female voice made some rejoinder, 
but not distinguish the words ; when the man again spoke, — 

“No, no! it’s all a blunder of that old major; and here 
am I without an orderly to send after him. Diable! it is 
provoking.” 

1 4 Is n’t that one of your people at the foot of the tower ? ” 
said the lady, as she pointed to where I stood, praying for 
the earth to open and close over me ; for as he moved his 
head to look down, I saw the epaulettes of a staff officer. 

“ Holloa ! ” cried he, “ are you on duty ? ” 

“ No, sir; I was — ” 

Not waiting for me to finish an explanation, he went on, — 

“Follow that division of cavalry that has taken the 
Strasbourg road, and tell Major Roquelard that he has gone 
wrong ; he should have turned off to the left at the suburbs. 
Lose no time, but away at once. You are mounted, of 
course ? ” 

“ No, sir, my horse is at quarters ; but I can — ” 

44 No, no ! it will be too late,” he broke in again. 44 Take 
my troop horse, and be off. You ’ll find him in the stable to 
your left.” 

Then turning to the lady I heard him say, — 

44 It may save Roquelard from an arrest.” 

I did not wait for more, but hurried off in the direction 
he had pointed. A short gravel walk brought me in front 


A SCRAPE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 99 

of a low building, in the cottage style, but which, decorated 
with emblems of the chase, I guessed to be the stable. Not 
a groom was to be seen ; but the door being unlatched I 
entered freely. Four large and handsome horses were 
feeding at the racks, their glossy coats and long silken 
manes showing the care bestowed upon them. Which is 
the trooper, thought I, as I surveyed them all with keen 
and scrutinizing eye. All my skill in such matters was 
unable to decide the point ; they seemed all alike valuable 
and handsome, in equally high condition, and exhibiting 
equal marks of careful treatment. Two were stamped on 
the haunches with the letters “ R. F. ; ” and these, of 
course, were cavalry horses. One was a powerful black 
horse, whose strong quarters and deep chest bespoke great 
action, while the backward glances of his eye indicated the 
temper of a “tartar.” Making choice of him without an 
instant’s hesitation, I threw on the saddle, adjusted the 
stirrups to my own length, buckled the bridle, and led him 
forth. In all my “ school experience” I had never seen an 
animal that pleased me so much ; his well-arched neck and 
slightly-dipped back showed that an Arab cross had mingled 
with the stronger qualities of the Norman horse. I sprung 
to my saddle with delight ; to be astride such a beast was 
to kindle up all the enthusiasm of my nature, and as I 
grasped the reins, and urged him forward, I was half wild 
with excitement. 

Apparently the animal was accustomed to more gentle 
treatment, for he gave a loud snort, such as a surprised or 
frightened horse will give, and then bounded forward once 
or twice, as if to dismount me. This failing, he reared up 
perfectly straight, pawing madly, and threatening even to 
fall backwards. I saw that I had, indeed, selected a wicked 
one ; for in every bound and spring, in every curvet and 
leap, the object was clearly to unseat the rider. At one 
instant he would crouch, as if to lie down, and then bound 
up several feet in the air, with a toss up of his haunches 
that almost sent me over his head. At another he would 
spring from side to side, writhing and twisting like a fish, 
till the saddle seemed actually slipping away from his lithe 
body. Not only did I resist all these attacks, but vigorously 


L.ofC. 


100 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


continued to punish with whip and spur the entire time, — a 
proceeding, I could easily see, he was not prepared for. At 
last, actually maddened with his inability to throw me, and 
enraged by my continuing to spur him, he broke away, and 
dashing headlong forward, rushed into the very thickest of 
the grove. Fortunately for me, the trees were either shrubs 
or of stunted growth, so that I had only to keep my saddle 
to escape danger; but suddenly emerging from this, he 
gained the open sward, and as if his passion became more 
furious as he indulged in it, he threw up his head, and 
struck out in full gallop. I had but time to see that he was 
heading for the great fosse of the boulevard, when we were 
already on its brink. A shout and a cry, of I know not 
what, came from the tower; but I heard nothing more. 
Mad as the maddened animal himself, perhaps at that 
moment just as indifferent to life, I dashed the spurs into 
his flanks, and over we went, lighting on the green sward 
as easily as a seagull on a wave. To all seeming, the 
terrible leap had somewhat sobered him ; but on me it had 
produced the very opposite effect. I felt that I had gained 
the mastery, and resolved to use it. With unrelenting 
punishment, then, I rode him forward, taking the country 
as it lay straight before me. The few fences which divided 
the great fields were too insignificant to be called leaps, and 
he took them in the “ sling 99 of his stretching gallop. He 
was now subdued, yielding to every turn of my wrist, and 
obeying every motive of my will like an instinct. It may 
read like a petty victory ; but he who has ever experienced 
the triumph over an enraged and powerful horse, well knows 
that few sensations are more pleasurably exciting. High 
as is the excitement of being borne along in full speed, 
leaving village and spire, glen and river, bridge and mill 
behind you, — now careering up the mountain side with the 
fresh breeze upon your brow, now diving into the dark 
forest, startling the hare from her cover and sending the 
wild deer scampering before you, — it is still increased by 
the sense of a victory, by feeling that the mastery is with 
you, and that each bound of the noble beast beneath you has 
its impulse in your own heart. 

Although the cavalry squadrons I was despatched to over- 


A SCRAPE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 


101 


take had quitted Nancy four hours before, I came up with 
them in less than an hour, and inquiring for the officer in 
command, rode up to the head of the division. He was a 
thin, gaunt-looking, stern-featured man, who listened to my 
message without changing a muscle. 

44 Who sent you with this order?” said he. 

44 A general officer, sir, whose name I don’t know; but 
who told me to take his own horse and follow you.” 

44 Did he tell you to kill the animal, sir?” said he, point- 
ing to the heaving flanks and shaking tail of the exhausted 
beast. 

44 He bolted with me at first, major, and having cleared 
the ditch of the boulevard, rode away with me.” 

44 Why, it’s Colonel Mahon’s Arab 4 Aleppo,”’ said an- 
other officer; 44 what could have persuaded him to mount 
an orderly on a beast worth ten thousand francs ? ” 

I thought I ’d have fainted as I heard these words ; the 
whole consequences of my act revealed themselves before 
me, and I saw arrest, trial, sentence, imprisonment, and 
Heaven knew what afterwards, like a panorama rolling out 
to my view. 

44 Tell the colonel, sir,” said the major, 44 that I have taken 
the north road, intending to cross over at Beaumont; that 
the artillery trains have cut up the Metz road so deeply 
cavalry cannot travel ; tell him I thank him much for his 
politeness in forwarding this despatch to me ; and tell him 
that I regret the rules of active service should prevent my 
sending back an escort to place yourself under arrest for the 
manner in which you have ridden, — you hear, sir?” 

I touched my cap in salute. 

44 Are you certain, sir, that you have my answer cor- 
rectly?” 

44 1 am, sir.” 

44 Repeat it, then.” 

I repeated the reply, word for word, as he spoke it. 

44 No, sir,” said he, as I concluded ; 44 1 said for unsoldier- 
like and cruel treatment to your horse.” 

One of his officers whispered something in his ear, and he 
quietly added, — 

44 1 find that I had not used these words, but I ought to 


102 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


have done so ; give the message, therefore, as you heard it 
at first.” 

“ Mahon will shoot him, to a certainty,” muttered one of 
the captains. 

“ I ’d not blame him,” joined another; “ that horse saved 
his life at Quiberon, when he fell in with a patrol, — and 
look at him now ! ” 

The major made a sign for me to retire, and I turned and 
set out towards Nancy, with the feelings of a convict on the 
way to his fate. 

If I h did not feel that these brief records of an humble 
career were “upon honor,” and that the only useful lesson 
a life so unimportant can teach is the conflict between 
opposing influences, I might possibly be disposed to blink 
the avowal that as I rode along towards Nancy a very great 
doubt occurred to me as to whether I ought not to desert ! 
It is a very ignoble expression; but it must out. There 
were not in the French service any of those ignominious 
punishments which, once undergone, a man is dishonored 
forever, and no more admissible to rank with men of char- 
acter than if convicted of actual crime ; but there were 
marks of degradation almost as severe then in vogue, and 
which men dreaded with a fear nearly as acute, — such, for 
instance, as being ordered for service at the Bagne de Brest 
in Toulon, the arduous duty of guarding the galley-slaves, 
and which was scarcely a degree above the condition of the 
condemned themselves. Than such a fate as this, I would 
willingly have preferred death. It was, then, this thought 
that suggested desertion ; but I soon rejected the unworthy 
temptation, and held on my way towards Nancy. 

Aleppo, if at first wearied by the severe burst, soon rallied, 
while he showed no traces of his fiery temper, and exhibited 
few of fatigue ; and as I walked along at his side, washing 
his mouth and nostrils at each fountain I passed, and slack- 
ening his saddle-girths to give him freedom, long before we 
arrived at the suburbs he had regained all his looks and 
much of his spirit. 

At last we entered Nancy about nightfall, and, with a 
failing heart, I found myself at the gate of the Ducal palace. 
The sentries suffered me to pass unmolested, and entering I 


A SCRAPE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 


103 


took my way through the courtyard towards the small gate 
of the garden, which, as I had left it, was unlatched. 

It was strange enough, the nearer I drew towards the 
eventful moment of my fate the more resolute and composed 
my heart became. It is possible, thought I, that in a fit of 
passion he will send a ball through me, as the officer said. 
Be it so, — the matter is the sooner ended. If, however, he 
will condescend to listen to my explanation, I may be able 
to assert my innocence, at least so far as intention went. 
With this comforting conclusion, I descended at the stable 
door. Two dragoons in undress were smoking, as they lay 
at full length upon a bench, and speedily arose as I came 
up. 

“ Tell the colonel he’s come, Jacques,” said one, in a loud 
voice, and the other retired ; while the speaker, turning 
towards me, took the bridle from my hand, and led the 
animal in, without vouchsafing a word to me. 

“An active beast that,” said I, affecting the easiest and 
coolest indifference. The soldier gave me a look of undis- 
guised amazement, and I continued, — 

“ He has had a bad hand on him, I should say, — some 
one too flurried and too fidgetty to give confidence to a hot- 
tempered horse.” 

Another stare was all the reply. 

“In a little time, and with a little patience, I ’d make him 
as gentle as a lamb.” 

“I’m afraid you ’ll not have the opportunity,” replied he, 
significantly; “but the colonel, I see, is waiting for you, 
and you can discuss the matter together.” 

The other dragoon had just then returned, and made me a 
sign to follow him. A few paces brought us to the door of 
a small pavilion, at which a sentry stood, and having mo- 
tioned to me to pass in, my guide left me. An orderly ser- 
geant at the same instant appeared, and beckoning to me to 
advance, he drew aside a curtain, and pushing me forward, 
let the heavy folds close behind me ; and now I found myself 
in a richly-furnished chamber, at the farther end of which an 
officer was at supper with a young and handsome woman. 
The profusion of waxlights on the table, the glitter of plate 
and glass and porcelain, the richness of the lady’s dress, 


104 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


which seemed like the costume of a ball, were all objects 
distracting enough, but they could not turn me from the 
thought of my own condition ; and I stood still and motion- 
less, while the officer, a man of about fifty, with dark and 
stern features, deliberately scanned me from head to foot. 
Not a word did he speak, not a gesture did he make, but sat, 
with his black eyes actually piercing me. I would have 
given anything for some outbreak of anger, some burst of 
passion, that would have put an end to this horrible sus- 
pense, but none came; and there he remained several 
minutes, as if contemplating something too new and strange 
for utterance. “This must have an end,” thought I, — 
“ here goes ; ” and so, with my hand in salute, I drew my- 
self full up, and said, — 

“ I carried your orders, sir, and received for answer that 
Major -Roquelard had taken the north road advisedly, as 
that by Beaumont was cut up by the artillery trains ; that he 
would cross over to the Metz Chaussee as soon as possible ; 
that he thanked you for the kindness of your warning, and 
regretted that the rules of active service precluded his des- 
patching an escort of arrest along with me, for the mannet 
in which I had ridden with the order.” 

“Anything more?” asked the colonel, in a voice that 
sounded thick and guttural with passion. 

“ Nothing more, sir.” 

“No further remark or observation? ” 

“ None, sir, — at least from the major.” 

“ What, then, — from any other? ” 

“ A captain, sir, whose name I do not know, did say 
something.” 

“ What was it? ” 

“ I forget the precise words, sir, but their purport was 
that Colonel Mahon would certainly shoot me when I got 
back.” 

“ And you replied? ” 

“ I don’t believe I made any reply at the time, sir.” 

‘ 1 But you thought, sir, — what were your thoughts ? ” 

“ I thought it very like what I’d have done myself in a 
like case, although certain to be sorry for it afterwards.” 

Whether the emotion had been one for some time previous 


A SCRAPE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 


105 


restrained, or that my last words had provoked it suddenly, 
I cannot tell, but the lady here burst out into a fit of laugh- 
ter, which was as suddenly checked by some sharp observa- 
tion of the colonel, whose stern features grew sterner and 
darker every moment. 

“ There we differ, sir,” said he, “ for I should not.” At 
the same instant he pushed his plate away, to make room 
on the table for a small portfolio, opening which, he pre- 
pared to write. 

“You will bring this paper,” continued he, “to the 
‘ Prev6t Marshal.’ To-morrow morning you shall be tried 
by a regimental court-martial, and as your sentence may 
probably be the galleys and hard labor — ” 

“ I ’ll save .them the trouble,” said I, quietly drawing my 
sword; but scarcely was it clear of the scabbard when a 
shriek broke from the lady, who possibly knew not the 
object of my act ; at the same instant the colonel bounded 
across the chamber, and striking me a severe blow upon the 
arm dashed the weapon from my hand to the ground. 

“ You want the fusillade, — is that what you want? ” cried 
he, as in a towering fit of passion he dragged me forward 
to the light. I was now standing close to the table ; the 
lady raised her eyes towards me, and at once broke out into 
a burst of laughter, — such hearty, merry laughter, that, 
even with the fear of death before me, I could almost have 
joined in it. 

“What is it, — what do you mean, Laure?” cried the 
colonel, angrily. 

“ Don’t you see it? ” said she, still holding her kerchief to 
her face, — “ can’t you perceive it yourself? He has only 
one mustache ! ” 

I turned hastily towards the mirror beside me, and there 
was the fatal fact revealed, — one gallant curl disported 
proudly over the left cheek, while the other was left bare. 

“ Is the fellow mad, — a mountebank? ” said the colonel, 
whose anger was now at its white heat. 

“ Neither, sir,” said I, tearing off my remaining mustache, 
in shame and passion together. “ Among my other misfor- 
tunes I have that of being young ; and what’s worse, I was 
ashamed of it; but I begin to see my error, and know that 


106 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


a man may be old without gaining either in dignity or 
temper.” 

With a stroke of his closed fist upon the table, the colonel 
made every glass and decanter spring from their places, 
while he uttered an oath that was only current in the days 
of that army. “ This is beyond belief,” cried he. “ Come, 
gredin , you have at least had one piece of good fortune, — 
you’ve fallen precisely into the hands of one who can deal 
with you. Your regiment?” 

“ The Ninth Hussars.” 

“ Your name? ” 

“ Tiernay.” 

“ Tiernay ! that ’s not a French name? ” 

“ Not originally ; we were Irish once.” 

“Irish,” said he, in a different tone from what he had 
hitherto used. “ Any relative of a certain Comte Maurice 
de Tiernay, who once served in the Royal Guard ? ” 

“ His son, sir.” 

“ What ! his son ! Art certain of this, lad? You remem- 
ber your mother’s name then : what was it ? ” 

“ I never knew which was my mother,” said I, — “ Made- 
moiselle de la Lasterie or — ” 

He did not suffer me to finish, but throwing his arms 
around my neck, pressed me to his bosom. 

“You are little Maurice, then,” said he, “ the son of my 
old and valued comrade ! Only think of it, Laure, — I was 
that boy’s godfather ! ” 

Here was a sudden change in my fortunes ! nor was it 
without a great effort that I could credit the reality of it, as 
I saw myself seated between the colonel and his fair com- 
panion, both of whom overwhelmed me with attention. It 
turned out that Colonel Mahon had been a fellow-guards- 
man with my father, for whom he had ever preserved the 
warmest attachment. One of the few survivors of the 
Garde du Corps, he had taken service with the Republic, and 
was already reputed as one of the most distinguished cavalry 
officers. 

“ Strange enough, Maurice,” said he to me, “ there was 
something in your look and manner, as you spoke to me 
there, that recalled your poor father to my memory; and 


A SCRAPE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 


107 


without knowing or suspecting why, I suffered you to bandy 
words with me, while at another moment I would have 
ordered you to be ironed and sent to prison.” 

Of my mother, of whom I wished much to learn something, 
he would not speak, but adroitly changed the conversation to 
the subject of my own adventures, and these he made me 
recount from the beginning. If the lady enjoyed all the 
absurdities of my checkered fortune with a keen sense of the 
ridiculous, the colonel apparently could trace in them but so 
many resemblances to my father’s character, and constantly 
broke out into exclamations of, ‘ ‘ How like him ! ” “ Just 

what he would have done himself ! ” “ His own very words ! ” 
and so on. 

It was only in a pause of the conversation, as the clock on 
the mantelpiece struck eleven, that I was aware of the late- 
ness of the hour, and remembered that I should be on the 
punishment-roll the next morning for absence from quarters. 

“ Never fret about that, Maurice, I ’ll return your name as 
on a special service ; and to have the benefit of truth on our 
side, you shall be named one of my orderlies, with the grade 
of corporal.” 

“ Why not make him a sous-lieutenant ? ” said the lady, in 
a half -whisper. “ I ’m sure he is better worth his epaulettes 
than any I have seen on your staff.” 

“ Nay, nay,” muttered the colonel, “ the rules of the ser- 
vice forbid it. He’ll win his spurs time enough, or I’m 
much mistaken.” 

While I thanked my new and kind patron for his good- 
ness, I could not help saying that my heart was eagerly set 
upon the prospect of actual service; and that proud as I 
should be of his protection, I would rather merit it by my 
conduct than owe my advancement to favor. 

“Which simply means that you are tired of Nancy, and 
riding drill, and want to see how men comport themselves 
where the manoeuvres are not arranged beforehand. Well, 
so far you are right, boy. I shall, in all likelihood, be 
stationed here for three or four months, during which you 
might have advanced a stage or so towards those epaulettes 
my fair friend desires to see upon your shoulders. You shall, 
therefore, be sent forward to your own corps. I ’ll write to 


108 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


the colonel to confirm the rank of corporal ; the regiment is 
at present on the Moselle ; and, if I mistake not, will soon 
be actively employed. Come to me to-morrow before noon, 
and be prepared to march with the first detachments that are 
sent forward,” 

A cordial shake of the hand followed these words ; and 
the lady having also vouchsafed me an equal token of her 
good-will, I took my leave, the happiest fellow that ever 
betook himself to quarters after hours, and as indifferent to 
the penalties annexed to the breach of discipline as if the 
whole code of martial law were a mere fable. 


CHAPTER X. 


AN ARISTOCRATIC REPUBLICAN. 

If the worthy reader would wish to fancy the happiest of all 
youthful beings, let him imagine what I must have been, as, 
mounted upon Aleppo, a present from my godfather, with a 
purse of six shining louis in my pocket and a letter to my 
colonel, I set forth for Metz. I had breakfasted with 
Colonel Mahon, who, amid much good advice for my future 
guidance, gave me, half slyly, to understand that the days of 
Jacobinism had almost run their course, and that a re- 
actionary movement had already set in. The Republic, he 
added, was as strong, perhaps stronger, than ever, but that 
men had grown weary of mob tyranny, and were day by day 
reverting to the old loyalty, — in respect for whatever pre- 
tended to culture, good breeding, and superior intelligence. 
“ As, in a shipwreck, the crew instinctively turn for counsel 
and direction to the officers, you will see that France will, 
notwithstanding all the libertinism of our age, place her con- 
fidence in the men who have been the tried and worthy ser- 
vants of former governments. So far then from suffering on 
account of your gentle blood, Maurice, the time is not distant 
when it will do you good service ; and when every associa- 
tion that links you with family and fortune will be deemed an 
additional guarantee of your good conduct. I mention these 
things,” continued he, “ because your colonel is what they 
call a ‘ Grosbleu,’ — that is, a coarse-minded, inveterate 
republican, detesting aristocracy and all that belongs to it. 
Take care, therefore, to give him no just cause for discon- 
tent, but be just as steady in maintaining your position as 
the descendant of a noble house, who has not forgotten what 
were once the privileges of his rank. Write to me frequently 
and freely, and I ’ll take care that you want for nothing, so 
far as my small means go, to sustain whatever grade you 
occupy. Your own conduct shall decide whether I ever 


no 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


desire to have any other inheritor than the son of my oldest 
friend in the world.” 

Such were his last words to me, as I set forth in company 
with a large party, consisting, for the most part, of under 
officers and employes attached to the medical staff of the 
army. It was a very joyous and merry fraternity, and, con- 
sisting of ingredients drawn from different pursuits and arms 
of the service, infinitely amusing from contrast of character 
and habits. My chief associate amongst them was a young 
sous-lieutenant of dragoons, whose age, scarcely much above 
my own, joined to a joyous, reckless temperament, soon 
pointed him out as the character to suit me. His name was 
Eug&ne Santron. In appearance he was slightly formed, 
and somewhat under-sized, but with handsome features, their 
animation rendered sparkling by two of the wickedest black 
eyes that ever glistened and glittered in a human head. I 
soon saw that under the mask of affected fraternity and 
equality he nourished the most profound contempt for the 
greater number of his associates, who, in truth, were, how- 
ever braves gens , the very roughest and least-polished speci- 
mens of the polite nation. In all his intercourse with them, 
Eugene affected the easiest tone of camaraderie and equality, 
never assuming in the slightest, nor making any pretensions 
to the least superiority on the score of position or acquire- 
ments, but on the whole consoling himself, as it were, by 
“playing them off” in their several eccentricities, and ren- 
dering every trait of their vulgarity and ignorance tributary 
to his own amusement. Partly from seeing that he made me 
an exception to this practice, and partly from his perceiving the 
amusement it afforded me, we drew closer towards each other, 
and before many days elapsed had become sworn friends. 

There is probably no feature of character so very attrac- 
tive to a young man as frankness. The most artful of all 
flatteries is that which addresses itself by candor, and seems 
at once to select, as it were by intuition, the object most 
suited for a confidence. Santron carried me by a coup de 
main of this kind, as taking my arm one evening, as I was 
strolling along the banks of the Moselle, he said, — 

“My dear Maurice, it’s very easy to see that the society 
of our excellent friends yonder is just as distasteful to you 
as to me. One cannot always be satisfied laughing at their 


AN ARISTOCRATIC REPUBLICAN. 


Ill 


solecisms in breeding and propriety. One grows weary at 
last of ridiculing their thousand absurdities ; and then there 
comes the terrible retribution in the reflection of what the 
devil brought me into such company, — a question that, 
however easily answered, grows more and more intolerable 
the oftener it is asked. To be sure, in my case there was 
little choice in the matter, for I was not in any way the 
arbiter of my own fortune. I saw myself converted from a 
royal page to a printer’s devil by a kind old fellow, who 
saved my life by smearing my face with ink, and covering 
my scarlet uniform with a filthy blouse ; and since that day 
I have taken the hint, and often found the lesson a good 
one, — the dirtier the safer ! 

“We were of the old nobility of France ; but as the name 
of our family was the cause of its extinction, I took care to 
change it. I see you don’t clearly comprehend me, and so 
I’ll explain myself better. My father lived unmolested 
during the earlier days of the Revolution, and might so have 
continued to the end if a detachment of the Garde Republi- 
caine had not been despatched to our neighborhood of Sarre 
Louis, where it was supposed some lurking regard for royalty 
yet lingered. These fellows neither knew nor cared for the 
ancient noblesse of the country, and one evening a patrol of 
them stopped my father as he was taking his evening walk 
along the ramparts. He would scarcely deign to notice the 
insolent ‘ Qui va la?’ of the sentry, a summons he at least 
thought superfluous in a town which had known his ancestry 
for eight or nine generations. At the repetition of the cry, 
accompanied by something that sounded ominous, in the 
sharp click of a gun-lock, he replied haughtily, — 

“ ‘ Je suis le Marquis de Saint-Trone.’ 

“‘There are no more Marquises in France!’ was the 
savage answer. 

“ My father smiled contemptuously, and briefly said 
‘ Saint-Trone.’ 

“ ‘ We have no Saints either,’ cried another. 

“ ‘Be it so, my friend,’ said he, with mingled pity and 
disgust. 4 1 suppose some designation may at least be left 
to me, and that I may call myself Trone.’ 

“ ‘ We are done with thrones long ago,’ shouted they in 
chorus, ‘ and we’ll finish you also.’ 


112 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ Ay, and they kept their word, too. They shot him that 
same evening, on very little other charge than his own 
name ! If I have retained the old sound of my name I have 
given it a more plebeian spelling, which is, perhaps, just as 
much of an alteration as any man need submit to for a 
period that will pass away so soon.” 

“How so, Eugene? You fancy the Republic will not 
endure in France? What, then, can replace it?” 

“ Anything, everything ; for the future all is possible. We 
have annihilated legitimacy, it is true, just as the Indians 
destroy a forest, by burning the trees ; but the roots remain, 
and if the soil is incapable of sending up the giant stems as 
before, it is equally unable to furnish a new and different 
culture. Monarchy is just as firmly rooted in a Frenchman’s 
heart; but he will have neither patience for its tedious 
growth, nor can he submit to restore what has cost him so 
dearly to destroy. The consequences will therefore be a 
long and continued struggle between parties, each imposing 
upon the nation the form of government that pleases it in 
turn. Meanwhile you and I, and others like us, must serve 
whatever is uppermost : the cleverest fellow he who sees the 
coming change, and prepares to take advantage of it.” 

“ Then are you a Royalist? ” asked I. 

“A Royalist! What! stand by a monarch who deserted 
his aristocracy and forgot his own order ; defend a throne 
that he had reduced to the condition of a fauteuil de 
Bourgeois ? ” 

“You are then for the Republic?” 

“ For what robbed me of my inheritance, what degraded 
me from my rank, and reduced me to a state below that of 
my own vassals, — is this a cause to uphold ? ” 

“ You are satisfied with military glory, perhaps,” said I, 
scarcely knowing what form of faith to attribute to him. 

“In an army where my superiors are the very dregs of the 
people ! where the canaille have the command, and the chiv- 
alry of France is represented by a sans-culotte ! ” 

“ The cause of the Church — ” 

A burst of ribald laughter cut me short, and laying his 
hand on my shoulder he looked me full in the face, while 
with a struggle to recover his gravity he said, — 


AN ARISTOCRATIC REPUBLICAN. 


113 


“ I hope, my dear Maurice, you are not serious, and that 
you do not mean this for earnest! Why, my dear boy, 
don’t you talk of the Eleusinian Mysteries, the Delphic 
Oracle, of Alchemy, Astrology, — of anything, in short, of 
which the world, having amused itself, has at length grown 
weary? Can’t you see that the Church has passed away, 
and these good priests have gone the same road as their 
predecessors ? Is any acuteness wanting to show that there 
is an end of this superstition that has enthralled men’s minds 
for a couple of thousand years? No, no! their game is up, 
and forever. These pious men, who despised this world, 
and yet had no other hold upon the minds of others than by 
the very craft and subtlety that world taught them ; these 
heavenly souls, whose whole machinations revolved about 
earthy objects and the successes of this grovelling planet, — 
fight for them ! No, parbleu! we owe them but little love or 
affection. Their whole aim in life has been to disgust one 
with whatever is enjoyable ; and the best boon they have 
conferred upon humanity is the bright thought of locking up 
the softest eyes and fairest cheeks of France in cloisters and 
nunneries ! I can forgive our glorious Revolution much of 
its wrong when I think of the Pretre, — not but that they 
could have knocked down the church without suffering the 
ruins to crush the ch&teau ! ” 

Such, in brief, were the opinions my companion held, and 
of which I was accustomed to hear specimens every day, — 
at first, with displeasure and repugnance ; later on, with more 
of toleration ; and at last, with a sense of amusement at 
the singularity of his notions or the dexterity with which 
he defended them. The poison of his doctrines was the 
more insidious, because mingled with a certain dash of good 
nature and a reckless, careless easiness of disposition always 
attractive to very young men. His reputation for courage, 
of which he had given signal proofs, elevated him in my 
esteem ; and, ere long, all my misgivings about him, in regard 
of certain blemishes, gave way before my admiration of his 
heroic bearing and a readiness to confront peril, wherever 
to be found. 

I had made him the confidant of my own history, of which 
I told him everything, save the passages which related to the 

8 


114 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


P&re Michel. These I either entirely glossed over, or touched 
so lightly as to render unimportant, — a dread of ridicule 
restraining me from any mention of those earlier scenes of 
my life, which were alone of all those I should have avowed 
with -pride. Perhaps it was from mere accident, perhaps 
some secret shame to conceal my forlorn and destitute con- 
dition may have had its share in the motive ; but, for some 
cause or other, I gave him to understand that my acquaint- 
ance with Colonel Mahon had dated back to a much earlier 
period than a few days before, and, the impression once 
made, a sense of false shame led me to support it. 

“ Mahon can be a good friend to you,” said Eugene ; “he 
stands well with all parties. The Convention trust him, the 
sans-culottes are afraid of him, and the few men of family 
whom the guillotine has left look up to him as one of their 
stanchest adherents. Depend upon it, therefore, your pro- 
motion is safe enough, even if there were not a field open for 
every man who seeks the path to eminence. The great 
point, however, is to get service with the army of Italy. 
These campaigns here are as barren and profitless as the soil 
they are fought over ; but in the south, Maurice, in the land 
of dark eyes and tresses, under the blue skies, or beneath the 
trellised vines, there are rewards of victory more glorious 
than a grateful country, as they call it, ever bestowed. 
Never forget, my boy, that you or I have no cause ! It is 
to us a matter of indifference what party triumphs, or who 
is uppermost. The government may change to-morrow, and 
the day after, and so on for a month long, and yet we re- 
main just as we were. Monarchy, Commonwealth, Democ- 
racy — what you will — may rule the hour, but the sous- 
lieutenant is but the servant who changes his master. Now, 
in revenge for all this, we have one compensation, which is 
to ‘ live for the day,’ — to make the most of that brief 
hour of sunshine granted us, and to taste of every pleas- 
ure, to mingle in every dissipation, and enjoy every excite- 
ment that we can. This is my philosophy, Maurice, and 
just try it.” 

Such was the companion with whom chance threw me in 
contact, and I grieve to think how rapidly his influence 
gained the mastery over me. 


CHAPTER XI. 


“THE PASSAGE OF THE RHINE.” 

I parted from my friend Eugene at Treves, where he re- 
mained in garrison, while I was sent forward to Coblentz 
to join my regiment, at that time forming part of Ney’s 
division. 

Were I to adhere in my narrative to the broad current of 
great events, I should here have to speak of that grand scheme 
of tactics by which Kleber, advancing from the Lower Rhine, 
engaged the attention of the Austrian Grand Duke, in order 
to give time and opportunity for Hoche’s passage of the river 
at Strasbourg, and the commencement of that campaign which 
had for its object the subjugation of Germany. I have not, 
however, the pretension to chronicle those passages which 
history has forever made memorable, even were my own 
share in them of a more distinguished character. The insig- 
nificance of my station must, therefore, be my apology if I 
turn from the description of great and eventful incidents to 
the humble narrative of my own career. 

Whatever the contents of Colonel Mahon’s letter, they did 
not plead very favorably for me with Colonel Hacque, my 
new commanding officer ; neither, to all seeming, did my own 
appearance weigh anything in my favor. Raising his eyes at 
intervals from the letter to stare at me, he uttered some bro- 
ken phrases of discontent and displeasure ; at last he said, — 

“What’s the object of this letter, sir; to what end have 
you presented it to me ? ” 

“As I am ignorant of its contents, mon Colonel,” said I, 
calmly, “ I can scarcely answer the question.” 

“ Well, sir, it informs me that you are the son of a certain 
Count Tiernay, who has long since paid the price of his 
nobility ; and that being an especial protege of the writer, 


116 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


he takes occasion to present you to me ; now I ask again, 
with what object?” 

“ I presume, sir, to obtain for me the honor which I now 
enjoy, - -to become personally known to you.” 

“ I know every soldier under my command, sir,” said he, 
rebukingly ; “as you will soon learn if you remain in my 
regiment. I have no need of recommendatory letters on that 
score. As to your grade of corporal, it is not confirmed ; 
time enough when your services shall have shown that you 
deserve promotion. Parbleu ! sir, you ’ll have to show other 
claims than your ci-devant countship.” 

“Colonel Mahon gave me a horse, sir; may I be per- 
mitted to retain him as a regimental mount?” asked I, 
timidly. 

“We want horses — what is he like? ” 

“ Three-quarters Arab, and splendid in action, sir.” 

“ Then, of course, unfit for service and field manoeuvres. 
Send him to the Etat Major. The Republic will find a fitting 
mount for you; you may retire.” 

And I did retire, with a heart almost bursting between 
anger and disappointment. What a future did this opening 
present to me ! What a realization this of all my flattering 
hopes ! 

This sudden reverse of fortune, for it was nothing less, did 
not render me more disposed to make the best of my new 
condition, nor see in the most pleasing light the rough and 
rude fraternity among which I was thrown. The Ninth 
Hussars were reputed to be an excellent service-corps, but, 
off duty, contained some of the worst ingredients of the 
army. Play, and its consequence duelling, filled up every 
hour not devoted to regimental duty ; and low as the tone of 
manners and morals stood in the service generally, ‘ ‘ Hacque’s 
Tapageurs,” as they were called, enjoyed the unflattering 
distinction of being the leaders. Self-respect was a quality 
utterly unknown amongst them, — none felt ashamed at the 
disgrace of punishment ; and as all knew that at the approach 
of the enemy prison-doors would open and handcuffs fall off, 
they affected to think the Salle de Police was a pleasant 
alternative to the fatigue and worry of duty. These habits 
not only stripped soldiering of all its chivalry, but robbed 


THE PASSAGE OF THE RHINE/ 


117 


freedom itself of all its nobility. These men saw nothing but 
licentiousness in their newly- won liberty. Their ‘ ‘ Equality ” 
was the permission to bring everything down to a base and 
unworthy standard; their “Fraternity,” the appropriation 
of what belonged to one richer than themselves. 

It would give me little pleasure to recount, and the reader 
in all likelihood as little to hear, the details of my life among 
such associates. They are the passages of my history most 
painful to recall, and least worthy of being remembered ; 
nor can I even yet write without shame the confession how 
rapidly their habits became my own. Eugene’s teachings 
had prepared me, in a manner, for their lessons. His scep- 
ticism, extending to everything and every one, had made me 
distrustful of all friendship, and suspicious of whatever 
appeared a kindness. Vulgar association and daily inti- 
macy with coarsely-minded men soon finished what he had 
begun ; and in less time than it took me to break my troop- 
horse to regimental drill, I had been myself “ broke in” to 
every vice and abandoned habit of my companions. 

It was not in my nature to do things by halves ; and thus 
I became, and in a brief space too, the most inveterate 
Tapageur of the whole regiment. There was not a wild 
prank or plot in which I was not foremost, not a breach 
of discipline unaccompanied by my name or presence ; and 
more than half the time of our march to meet the enemy, 
I passed in double irons under the guard of the Provost- 
marshal. 

It was at this pleasant stage of my education that our 
brigade arrived at Strasbourg, as part of the corps cVarmee 
under the command of General Moreau. 

He had just succeeded to the command on the dismissal of 
Pichegru, and found the army not only dispirited by the 
defeats of the past campaign, but in a state of rudest indis- 
cipline and disorganization. If left to himself, he would have 
trusted much to time and circumstances for the reform of 
abuses that had been the growth of many months long. But 
Regnier, the second in command, was made of “different 
stuff ; ” he was a harsh and stern disciplinarian, who rarely 
forgave a first and never a second offence, and who, deem- 
ing the Salle de Police as an incumbrance to an army on 


118 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


service, which besides required a guard of picked men that 
might be better employed elsewhere, usually gave the prefer- 
ence to the shorter sentence of “ four paces and a fusillade.” 
Nor was he particular in the classification of those crimes he 
thus expiated : from the most trivial excess to the wildest 
scheme of insubordination, all came under the one category. 
More than once, as we drew near to Strasbourg, I heard the 
project of a mutiny discussed, day after day. Some one or 
other would denounce the “ scelerat Regnier,” and proclaim 
his readiness to be the executioner ; but the closer we drew 
to head-quarters the more hushed and subdued became these 
mutterings, till at last they ceased altogether, and a dark 
and foreboding dread succeeded to all our late boastings and 
denunciations. 

This at first surprised and then utterly disgusted me with 
my companions. Brave as they were before the enemy, had 
they no courage for their own countrymen? Was all their 
valor the offspring of security, or could they only be 
rebellious when the penalty had no terrors for them ? Alas ! 
I was very young, and did not then know that men are never 
strong against the right, and that a bad cause is always a 
weak one. 

It was about the middle of June when we reached Stras- 
bourg, where now about forty thousand troops were assembled. 
I shall not readily forget the mingled astonishment and disap- 
pointment our appearance excited as the regiment entered the 
town. The Tapageurs, so celebrated for all their terrible ex- 
cesses and insubordination, were seen to be a fine corps of 
soldier-like fellows, their horses in high condition, their equip- 
ments and arms in the very best order. Neither did our con- 
duct at all tally with the reputation that preceded us. All 
was orderly and regular in the several billets ; the parade was 
particularly observed ; not a man late at the night muster. 
What was the cause of this sudden and remarkable change ? 
Some said that we were marching against the enemy ; but the 
real explanation lay in the few words of a general order read 
to us by our colonel the day before we entered the city : — 

The Ninth Hussars have obtained the unworthy reputation 
of being an ill-disciplined and ill-conducted regiment, relying 
upon their soldier-like qualities in face of the enemy to 


THE PASSAGE OF THE RHINE.' 


119 


cover the disgrace of their misconduct in quarters. This is 
a mistake that must be corrected. All Frenchmen are brave : 
none can arrogate to themselves any prerogative of valor. If 
any wish to establish such a belief, a campaign can always attest 
it. If any profess to think so without such proof, and, acting in 
conformity with this impression, disobey their orders or infringe 
regimental discipline, I will have them shot. 

Regnier, 

Adjutant-General. 

This was, at least, a very straightforward and intelligible 
announcement, and as such my comrades generally ac- 
knowledged it. I, however, regarded it as a piece of 
monstrous and intolerable tyranny, and sought to make 
converts to my opinion by declaiming about the rights of 
Frenchmen, the liberty of free discussion, the glorious 
privilege of equality, and so on; but these arguments 
sounded faint in presence of the drum-head, and while 
some slunk away from the circle around me, others signifi- 
cantly hinted that they would accept no part of the danger 
my doctrines might originate. 

However I might have respected my comrades had they 
been always the well-disciplined body I now saw them, I 
confess that this sudden conversion from fear was in nowise 
to my taste, and rashly confounded their dread of punish- 
ment with a base and ignoble fear of death. “And these 
are the men,” thought I, “ who talk of their charging home 
through the dense squares of Austria ! who have hunted the 
leopard into the sea! and have carried the flag of France 
over the high Alps ! ” 

A bold rebel, whatever may be the cause against which he 
revolts, will always be sure of a certain ascendancy. Men 
are prone to attribute power to pretension, and he who stands 
foremost in the breach will at least win the suffrages of those 
whose cause he assumes to defend. In this way it happened 
that exactly as my comrades fell in my esteem, I was 
elevated in theirs ; and while I took a very depreciating 
estimate of their courage, they conceived a very exalted 
opinion of mine. 

It was altogether inexplicable to see these men — many 
of them the bronzed veterans of a dozen campaigns, the 


120 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


wounded and distinguished soldiers in many a hard-fought 
field — yielding up their opinions and sacrificing their con- 
victions to a raw and untried stripling who had never yet 
seen an enemy. 

With a certain fluency of speech I possessed also a readi- 
ness at picking up information, and arraying the scattered 
fragments of news into a certain consistence, which greatly 
imposed upon my comrades. A quick eye for manoeuvres, 
and a shrewd habit of combining in my own mind the 
various facts that came before me, made me appear to them 
a perfect authority on military matters, of which I talked, 
I shame to say, with all the confidence and presumption of 
an accomplished general. A few lucky guesses, and a few 
half hints accidentally confirmed, completed all that was 
wanting, — and what says “ Le Jeune Maurice,” was the 
inevitable question that followed each piece of flying gossip, 
or every rumor that rose of a projected movement. 

I have seen a good deal of the world since that time, and 
I am bound to confess that not a few of the great reputa- 
tions I have witnessed have stood upon grounds very similar 
and not a whit more stable than my own. A bold face, a 
ready tongue, a promptness to support with my right hand 
whatever my lips were pledged to, and above all good luck 
made me the king of my company ; and although that 
sovereignty only extended to half a squadron of hussars, it 
was a whole universe to me. 

So stood matters when, on the 23d of June, orders came 
for the whole corps d'armee to hold itself in readiness for a 
forward movement. Rations for two days were distributed, 
and ammunition given out as if for an attack of some 
duration. Meanwhile, to obviate any suspicion of our in- 
tentions, the gates of Strasbourg on the eastern side were 
closed, all egress in that direction forbidden, and couriers 
and estafettes sent off towards the north, as if to provide 
for the march of our force in that direction. The arrival of 
various orderly dragoons during the previous night, and on 
that morning early, told of a great attack in force on 
Manheim, about sixty miles lower down the Rhine, and the 
cannonade of which some avowed that they could hear at 
that distance. The rumor therefore seemed confirmed 


THE PASSAGE OF THE RHINE. 


121 


that we were ordered to move to the north, to support this 
assault. 

The secret despatch of a few dismounted dragoons and 
some riflemen to the hanks of the Rhine, however, did not 
strike me as according with this view, and particularly as 
I saw that, although all were equipped and in readiness to 
move, the order to march was not given, — a delay very 
unlikely to be incurred if we were destined to act as the 
reserve of the force already engaged. 

Directly opposite to us, on the right bank of the river, and 
separated from it by a low flat of about two miles in extent, 
stood the fortress of Kehl, at that time garrisoned by a 
strong Austrian force ; the banks of the river, and the wooded 
islands in the stream, which communicated with the right by 
bridges or fordable passes, being also held by the enemy in 
force. 

These we had often seen, by the aid of telescopes, from 
the towers and spires of Strasbourg ; and now I remarked 
that the general and his staff seemed more than usually intent 
on observing their movements. This fact, coupled with the 
not less significant one that no preparations for a defence of 
Strasbourg were in progress, convinced me that instead of 
moving down the Rhine to the attack on Manheim, the plan 
of our general was to cross the river where we were and 
make a dash at the fortress of Kehl. I was soon to receive 
the confirmation of my suspicion, as the orders came for two 
squadrons of the Ninth to proceed, dismounted, to the bank 
of the Rhine, and, under shelter of the willows, to conceal 
themselves there. Taking possession of the various skiffs 
and fishing-boats along the bank, we were distributed in 
small parties, to one of which, consisting of eight men under 
the orders of a corporal, I belonged. 

About an hour’s march brought us to the river side, in a 
little clump of alder willows, where, moored to a stake, lay 
a fishing-boat with two short oars in her. Lying down 
beneath the shade, for the afternoon was hot and sultry, 
some of us smoked, some chatted, and a few dozed away 
the hours that somehow seemed unusually slow in passing. 

There was a certain dogged sullenness about my com- 
panions, which proceeded from their belief that we and all 


122 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


who remained at Strasbourg were merely left to occupy the 
enemy’s attention, while greater operations were to be 
carried on elsewhere. 

“ You see what it is to be a condemned corps,” muttered 
one; “it’s little matter what befalls the old Ninth, even 
should they be cut to pieces.” 

“ They did n’t think so at Enghien,” said another, “ when 
we rode down the Austrian cuirassiers.” 

“Plain enough,” cried a third, “we are to have skir- 
mishers’ duty here, without skirmishers’ fortune in having a 
force to fall back upon.” 

“Eh! Maurice, is not this very like what you predicted 
for us ? ” broke in a fourth, ironically. 

“I’m of the same mind still,” rejoined I, coolly: “the 
general is not thinking of a retreat ; he has no intention ol 
deserting a well-garrisoned, well-provisioned fortress. Let 
the attack on Manheim have what success it may, Strasbourg 
will be held still. I overheard Colonel Guy on remark that 
the waters of the Rhine have fallen three feet since the 
drought set in, and Regnier replied ‘ that we must lose no 
time, for there will come rain and floods ere long.’ Now, 
what could that mean but the intention to cross over 
yonder? ” 

“ Cross the Rhine in face of the fort of Kehl ! ” broke in 
the corporal. 

“ The French army have done bolder things before now,” 
was my reply ; and, whatever the opinion of my comrades, 
the flattery ranged them on my side. Perhaps the corporal 
felt it beneath his dignity to discuss tactics with an inferior, 
or perhaps he felt unable to refute the specious pretensions 
I advanced ; in any case he turned away, and either slept, 
or affected sleep, while I strenuously labored to convince my 
companions that my surmise was correct. 

I repeated all my former arguments about the decrease in 
the Rhine, showing that the river was scarcely two thirds 
of its habitual breadth, that the nights were now dark and 
well suited for a surprise, that the columns which issued from 
the town took their departure with a pomp and parade far 
more likely to attract the enemy’s attention than escape his 
notice, and were therefore the more likely to be destined for 


THE PASSAGE OF THE RHINE.’ 


128 


some secret expedition of which all this display was but the 
blind. These, and similar facts, I grouped together with a 
certain ingenuity, which, if it failed to convince, at least 
silenced my opponents. And now the brief twilight, if so 
short a struggle between day and darkness deserved the 
name, passed off, and night suddenly closed around us, — a 
night black and starless, for a heavy mass of lowering cloud 
seemed to unite with the dense vapor that arose from the 
river and the low-lying grounds along side of it. The air 
was hot and sultry, too, like the precursor of a thunder- 
storm, and the rush of the stream as it washed among the 
willows sounded preternaturally loud in the stillness. 

A hazy, indistinct flame, the watch-fire of the enemy on 
the island of Eslar, was the only object visible in the murky 
darkness. After a while, however, we could detect another 
fire on a smaller island, a short distance higher up the 
stream. This, at first dim and uncertain, blazed up after a 
while, and at length we descried the dark shadows of men as 
they stood around it. 

It was but the day before that I had been looking on a 
map of the Rhine, and remarked to myself that this small 
island, little more than a mere rock in the stream, was so 
situated as to command the bridge between Eslar and the 
German bank, and I could not help wondering that the 
Austrians had never taken the precaution to strengthen it, or 
at least place a gun there to enfilade the bridge. Now, 
to my extreme astonishment, I saw it occupied by the 
soldiery, who doubtless were artillery, as in such a position 
small arms would prove of slight efficiency. As I reflected 
over this, wondering within myself if any intimation of our 
movements could have reached the enemy, I heard along the 
ground on which I was lying the peculiar tremulous, dull 
sound communicated by a large body of men marching. 
The measured tramp could not be mistaken, and as I listened 
I could perceive that a force was moving towards the river 
from different quarters. The rumbling roll of heavy guns 
and the clattering noise of cavalry were also easily distin- 
guished, and awaking one of my comrades I called his atten- 
tion to the sounds. 

“ Parbleu ! ” said he, “thou’rt right; they’re going to 


124 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


make a dash at the fortress, and there will be hot work ere 
morning:. What say you now, corporal, has Maurice hit it 
off this time ? ” 

“ That ’s as it may be,” growled the other, sulkily ; “ guess- 
ing is easy work ever for such as thee! but if he be so 
clever, let him tell us why are we stationed along the river’s 
bank in small detachments. We have had no orders to 
observe the enemy, nor to report upon anything that might 
go forward ; nor do I see with what object we were to secure 
the fishing-boats, — troops could never be conveyed across 
the Rhine in skiffs like these ! ” 

“ I think that this order was given to prevent any of the 
fishermen giving information to the enemy in case of a 
sudden attack,” replied I. 

“ Mayhap thou wert at the council of war when the plan 
was decided on,” said he, contemptuously. “For a fellow 
that never saw the smoke of an enemy’s gun, thou hast a 
rare audacity in talking of war ! ” 

“ Yonder is the best answer to your taunt,” said I, as in a 
little bend of the stream beside us two boats were seen to 
pull under the shelter of the tall alders, from which the clank 
of arms could be plainly heard; and now another larger 
launch swept past, the dark shadows of a dense crowd of 
men showing above the gunwale. 

“They are embarking, they are certainly embarking,” 
now ran from mouth to mouth. As the troops arrived at 
the river’s bank they were speedily “told off” in separate 
divisions, of which some were to lead the attack, others to 
follow, and a third portion to remain as a reserve in the 
event of a repulse. 

The leading boat was manned entirely by volunteers, and 
I could hear from where I lay the names called aloud as 
the men stepped out from the ranks. I could hear that the 
first point of attack was the island of Eslar. So far there 
was a confirmation of my own guessing, and I did not hesi- 
tate to assume the full credit of my skill from my comrades. 
In truth, they willingly conceded all or even more than I 
asked for. Not a stir was heard, not a sight seen, not a 
movement made of which I was not expected to tell the 
cause and the import ; and knowing that to sustain my in- 


THE PASSAGE OF THE RHINE . 1 


125 


fluence there was nothing for it but to affect a thorough 
acquaintance with everything, I answered all their questions 
boldly and unhesitatingly. I need scarcely observe that the 
corporal in comparison sunk into downright insignificance. 
He had already shown himself a false guide, and none asked 
his opinion further, and I became the ruling genius of the 
hour. The embarkation now went briskly forward ; several 
light field-guns were placed in the boats, and two or three 
large rafts, capable of containing two companies each, were 
prepared to be towed across by boats. 

Exactly as the heavy hammer of the cathedral struck one, 
the first boat emerged from the willows, and darting rapidly 
forward headed for the middle of the stream ; another and 
another in quick succession followed, and speedily were lost 
to us in the gloom ; and now two four-oared skiffs stood out 
together, having a raft with two guns in tow ; by some mis- 
chance, however, they got entangled in a side current, and 
the raft swerving to one side swept past the boats, carrying 
them down the stream along with it. Our attention was not 
suffered to dwell on this mishap, for at the same moment the 
flash and rattle of firearms told us the battle had begun. 
Two or three isolated shots were first heard, and then a sharp 
platoon fire, accompanied by a wild cheer that we well knew 
came from our own fellows. One deep mellow boom of a 
large gun resounded amidst the crash, and a slight streak of 
flame, higher up the stream, showed that the shot came from 
the small island I have already spoken of. 

“ Listen lads,” said I ; “ that came from the ‘ Fels Insel.’ 
If they are firing grape yonder, our poor fellows in the 
boats will suffer sorely from it. By Jove, there is a crash ! ” 

As I was speaking, a rattling noise like the sound of clat- 
tering timber was heard, and with it a sharp, shrill cry of 
agony, and all was hushed. 

“Let’s at them, boys ! they can’t be much above our 
own number. The island is a mere rock,” cried I to my 
comrades. 

“ Who commands this party,” said the corporal, “ you 
or I?” 

“ You, if you lead us against the enemy,” said I; “but 
I ’ll take it if my comrades will follow me. There goes 
another shot ! lads — yes or no — now is the time to speak.” 


126 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“We’re ready,” cried three, springing forward with one 
impulse. 

At the instant I jumped into the skiff, the others took their 
places, and then came a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and a seventh, 
leaving the corporal alone on the bank. 

“Come along, corporal,” cried I, “we’ll win your epau- 
lettes for you ; ” but he turned away without a word, and 
not waiting further, I pushed out the skiff and sent her 
skimming down the stream. 

“ Pull steady, boys, and silently,” said I ; “we must gain 
the middle of the current, and then drop down the river 
without the least noise. Once beneath the trees, we ’ll give 
them a volley, and then the bayonet. Remember, lads, no 
flinching ! it ’s as well to die here as be shot by old Regnier 
to-morrow.” 

The conflict on the Eslar island was now, to all seeming, 
at its height. The roll of musketry was incessant, and sheets 
of flame from time to time streaked the darkness above the 
river. 

“ Stronger and together, boys ! once more — there it is — 
we are in the current now ; in with you, men, and look to 
your carbines ; see that the priming is safe ; every shot soon 
will be worth a fusillade. Lie still now, and wait for the 
word to fire.” 

The spreading foliage of the nut-trees was rustling over 
our heads as I spoke, and the sharp skiff, borne on the cur- 
rent, glided smoothly on till her bow struck the rock. With 
high-beating hearts we clambered up the little cliff, and as 
we reached the top beheld immediately beneath us, in a 
slight dip of the ground, several figures around a gun, which 
they were busy in adjusting. I looked right and left to see 
that my little party were all assembled, and without waiting 
for more, gave the order — fire ! 

We were within pistol range, and the discharge was a 
deadly one. The terror, however, was not less complete; 
for all who escaped death fled from the spot, and dashing 
through the brushwood, made for the shallow part of the 
stream, between the island and the right bank. 

Our prize was a brass eight-pounder, and an ample supply 
of ammunition. The gun was pointed towards the middle 


THE PASSAGE OF THE RHINE.’ 


127 


of the stream, where the current being strongest, the boats 
would necessarily be delayed ; and in all likelihood some of 
our gallant comrades had already experienced its fatal fire. 
To wheel it right about, and point it on the Eslar bridge, was 
the work of a couple of minutes ; and while three of our 
little party kept up a steady fire on the retreating enemy, 
the others loaded the gun and prepared to fire. 

Our distance from the Eslar island and bridge, as well 
as I could judge from the darkness, might be about two 
hundred and fifty yards ; and as we had the advantage of a 
slight elevation of ground, our position was admirable. 

“Wait patiently, lads,” said I, restraining, with difficulty, 
the burning ardor of my men, — ‘ 1 wait patiently till the 
retreat has commenced over the bridge. The work is too hot 
to last much longer on the island ; to fire upon them there 
would be to risk our own men as much as the enemy. See 
what long flashes of flame break forth among the brushwood ; 
and listen to the cheering now ! That was a French cheer ! 
and there goes another. Look! look! the bridge is dark- 
ening already ! That was a bugle-call, and they are in full 
retreat. Now lads — now ! ” 

As I spoke, the gun was discharged, and the instant after 
we heard the crashing rattle of the timber, as the shot struck 
the bridge and splintered the wood-work in all directions. 

“The range is perfect, lads,” cried I. “Load and fire 
with all speed.” 

Another shot, followed by a terrific scream from the bridge, 
told how the work was doing. Oh the savage exultation, 
the fiendish joy of my heart, as I drank in that cry of agony, 
and called upon my men to load faster ! 

Six shots were poured in with tremendous precision and 
effect, and the seventh tore away one of the main supports 
of the bridge, and down went the densely crowded column 
into the Rhine ; at the same instant the guns of our launches 
opened a destructive fire upon the banks, which soon were 
swept clean of the enemy. 

High up on the stream, and for nearly a mile below also, 
we could see the boats of our army pulling in for shore ; the 
crossing of the Rhine had been effected, and we now pre- 
pared to follow. 


CHAPTER XII. 


“ A GLANCE AT STAFF-DUTY.” 

Although the passage of the Rhine was but the prelude to 
the attack on the fortress, that exploit being accomplished, 
Kehl was carried at the point of the bayonet, the French 
troops entering the outworks pell-mell with the retreating 
enemy ; and in less than two hours after the landing of our 
first detachments, the tricolor waved over the walls of the 
fortress. 

Lost amid the greater and more important successes 
which since that time have immortalized the glory of the 
French arms, it is almost impossible to credit the celebrity 
attached at that time to this brilliant achievement, whose 
highest merits probably were rapidity and resolution. 
Moreau had long been jealous of the fame of his great rival 
Bonaparte, whose tactics, rejecting the colder dictates of 
prudent strategy and the slow progress of scientific manoeu- 
vres, seemed to place all his confidence in the sudden inspir- 
ations of his genius and the indomitable bravery of his 
troops. It was necessary, then, to raise the morale of the 
army of the Rhine, to accomplish some great feat similar in 
boldness and heroism to the wonderful achievements of the 
Italian army. Such was the passage of the Rhine at Stras- 
bourg, effected in the face of a great enemy advantageously 
posted, and supported by one of the strongest of all the 
frontier fortresses. 

The morning broke upon us in all the exultation of our 
triumph, and as our cheers rose high over the field of the 
late struggle, each heart beat proudly with the thought of 
how that news would be received in Paris. 

44 You’ll see how the bulletin will spoil all,” said a young 
officer of the army of Italy, as he was getting his wound 


A GLANCE AT STAFF-DUTY. 1 


129 


dressed on the field. 44 There will be such a long narrative 
of irrelevant matter — such details of this, that, and t’ other 
— that the public will scarce know whether the placard 
announces a defeat or a victory.” 

“ Parbleu /” replied an old veteran of the Rhine army, 
“what would you have? You’d not desire to omit the 
military facts of such an exploit?” 

“To be sure I would,” rejoined the other. “ Give me 
one of our young general’s bulletins, short, stirring, and 
effective : 4 Soldiers ! you have crossed the Rhine against an 
army double your own in numbers and munitions of war. 
You have carried a fortress, believed impregnable, at the 
bayonet. Already the great flag of our nation waves over 
the citadel you have won. Forward, then, and cease not 
till it floats over the cities of conquered Germany, and let 
the name of France be that of Empire over the continent of 
Europe.’ ” 

“Ha! I like that,” cried I, enthusiastically; “ that’s the 
bulletin to my fancy. Repeat it once more, mon lieutenant, 
that I may write it in my note-book.” 

“What! hast thou a note-book?” cried an old staff- 
officer, who was preparing to mount his horse; “let’s see 
it, lad.” 

With a burning cheek and trembling hand, I drew my 
little journal from the breast of my jacket, and gave it to 
him. 

“ So ere bleu/” exclaimed he, in a burst of laughter, 
4 4 what have we here ? Why, this is a portrait of old 
General Moricier, and, although a caricature, a perfect like- 
ness. And here comes a plan for manoeuvring a squadron 
by threes from the left. This is better, — it is a receipt for 
an 4 Omelette a la Hussard ; ’ and here we have a love-song, 
and a mustache-paste, with some hints about devotion, and 
diseased frog in horses. Most versatile genius, certainly ! ” 
and so he went on, occasionally laughing at my rude 
sketches and ruder remarks, till he came to a page headed 
44 Equitation, as practised by Officers of the Staff,” and 
followed by a series of caricatures of bad riding, in all its 
moods and tenses. The flush of anger which instantly 
colored his face soon attracted the notice of those about 


130 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


him, and one of the bystanders quickly snatched the book 
from his fingers, and, in the midst of a group all convulsed 
with laughter, proceeded to expatiate upon my illustrations. 
To be sure, they were absurd enough. Some were repre- 
sented sketching on horseback, under shelter of an umbrella ; 
others were “ taking the depth of a stream” by a “ header” 
from their own saddles ; some again were ‘ ‘ exploring ground 
for an attack in line,” by a measurement of the rider’s own 
length over the head of his horse. Then there were ridicu- 
lous situations, such as “ sitting down before a fortress,” 
“taking an angle of incidence,” and so on. Sorry jests all 
of them, but sufficient to amuse those with whose daily 
associations they chimed in, and to whom certain traits of 
portraiture gave all the zest of a personality. 

My shame at the exposure, and my terror for its conse- 
quences, gradually yielded to a feeling of flattered vanity at 
the success of my lucubrations ; and I never remarked that 
the staff-officer had ridden away from the group till I saw him 
galloping back at the top of his speed. 

“ Is your name Tiernay, my good fellow? ” cried he, riding 
close up to my side, and with an expression on his features 
I did not half like. 

“ Yes, sir,” replied I. 

“Hussar of the Ninth, I believe?” repeated he, reading 
from a paper in his hand. 

“ The same, sir.” 

“ Well, your talents as a draughtsman have procured you 
promotion, my friend ; I have obtained your discharge from 
your regiment, and you are now my orderly, — orderly on 
the staff, do you mind ; so mount, sir, and follow me.” 

I saluted him respectfully, and prepared to obey his orders. 
Already I foresaw the downfall of all the hopes I had been 
cherishing, and anticipated the life of tyranny and oppres- 
sion that lay before me. It was clear to me that my dis- 
charge had been obtained solely as a means of punishing me, 
and that Captain Discau, as the officer was called, had des- 
tined me to a pleasant expiation of my note-book. The 
savage exultation with which he watched me, as I made up 
my kit and saddled my horse, the cool malice with which he 
handed me back the accursed journal the cause of all my 


A GLANCE AT STAFF-DUTY.' 


131 


disasters, gave me a dark foreboding of what was to follow ; 
and as I mounted my saddle, my woeful face and miserable 
look brought forth a perfect shout of laughter from the 
bystanders. 

Captain Discau’s duty was to visit the banks of the Rhine 
and the Eslar island, to take certain measurements of dis- 
tances, and obtain accurate information on various minute 
points respecting the late engagement, — for, while a brief 
announcement of the victory would suffice for the bulletin, a 
detailed narrative of the event in all its bearings must be 
drawn up for the minister of war, and for this latter purpose 
various staff-officers were then employed in different parts of 
the field. 

As we issued from the fortress and took our way over the 
plain, we struck out into a sharp gallop; but as we drew 
near the river, our passage became so obstructed by lines of 
baggage wagons, tumbrils, and ammunition carts that we 
were obliged to dismount and proceed on foot ; and now I 
was to see for the first time that dreadful picture which on 
the day after a battle forms the reverse of the great medal 
of glory. Huge litters of wounded men, on their way back 
to Strasbourg, were drawn by six or eight horses, their jolt- 
ing motion increasing the agony of sufferings that found 
their vent in terrific cries and screams ; oaths, yells, and 
blasphemies, the ravings of madness, and the wild shouts of 
infuriated suffering filled the air on every side. As if to 
give the force of contrast to this uproar of misery, two regi- 
ments of Swabian infantry marched past as prisoners. 
Silent, crest-fallen, and wretched-looking, they never raised 
their eyes from the ground, but moved or halted, wheeled or 
stood at ease, as though by some impulse of mechanism ; a 
cord coupled the wrists of the outer files one with another, 
which struck me less as a measure of security against 
escape than as a mark of indignity. 

Carts and charettes with wounded officers, in which often- 
times the uniform of the enemy appeared side by side with 
our own, followed in long procession ; and thus were these 
two great currents — the one hurrying forward, ardent, high- 
hearted, and enthusiastic; the other returning maimed, 
shattered, and dying! 


182 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


It was an affecting scene to see the hurried gestures and 
hear the few words of adieu as they passed each other. Old 
comrades who were never to meet again parted with a little 
motion of the hand ; sometimes a mere look was all their 
leave-taking, — save when, now and then, a halt would for a 
few seconds bring the lines together, and then many a 
bronzed and rugged cheek was pressed upon the faces of the 
dying, and many a tear fell from eyes bloodshot with the 
fury of the battle. Wending our way on foot slowly along, 
we at last reached the river side, and having secured a small 
skiff made for the Eslar island ; our first business being to 
ascertain some details respecting the intrenchments there, 
and the depth and strength of the stream between it and the 
left bank. Discau, who was a distinguished officer, rapidly 
possessed himself of the principal facts he wanted, and then, 
having given me his portfolio, he seated himself under the 
shelter of a broken wagon, and opening a napkin, began 
his breakfast off a portion of a chicken and some bread, — 
viands which, I own, more than once made my lips water as 
I watched him. 

“You’ve eaten nothing to-day, Tiernay?” asked he, as 
he wiped his lips with the air of a man that feels satisfied. 

“ Nothing, mon capitaine ,” replied I. 

“That’s bad,” said he, shaking his head; “a soldier 
cannot do his duty if his rations be neglected. I have always 
maintained the principle, look to the men’s necessaries ; take 
care of their food and clothing. Is there anything on that 
bone there ? ” 

“ Nothing, mon capitaine .” 

“I’m sorry for it ; I meant it for you. Put up that bread, 
and the remainder of that flask of wine, — Bourdeaux is 
not to be had every day; we shall want it for supper, 
Tiernay.” 

I did as I was bid, wondering not a little why he said “ we,” 
seeing how little a share I occupied in the copartnery. 

“ Always be careful of the morrow on a campaign, Tier- 
nay. No squandering, no waste, — that’s one of my prin- 
ciples,” said he, gravely, as he watched me while I tied up 
the bread and wine in a napkin. “You’ll soon see the 
advantage of serving under an old soldier.” 


“A GLANCE AT STAFF-DUTY. 1 


133 


I confess the great benefit had not already struck me, but 
I held my peace and waited ; meanwhile he continued, — 

44 I have studied my profession from my boyhood, and one 
thing I have acquired that all experience has confirmed, — 
the knowledge that men must neither be taxed beyond their 
ability nor their endurance; a French soldier, after all, is 
human, — eh, is ’t not so? ” 

4 4 1 feel it most profoundly, mon capitaine” replied I, with 
my hand on my empty stomach. 

44 Just so,” rejoined he ; 44 every man of sense and discre- 
tion must confess it. Happily for you, too, I know it ; ay, 
Tiernay, I know it and practise it. When a young fellow 
has acquitted himself to my satisfaction during the day, — 
not that I mean to say that the performance has not its fair 
share of activity and zeal, — when evening comes and stable 
duty finished, arms burnished, and accoutrements cleaned, 
what do you think I say to him ? Eh, Tiernay, just guess 
now ! ” 

44 Probably, sir, you tell him he is free to spend an hour 
at the canteen, or take his sweetheart to the theatre.” 

44 What! more fatigue! more exhaustion to an already 
tired and worn-out nature ! ” 

4 4 1 ask pardon, sir, I see I was wrong ; but I had for- 
gotten how thoroughly the poor fellow was done up. I now 
see that you told him to go to bed.” 

44 To bed! to bed! Is it that he might writhe in the 
nightmare, or suffer agony from cramps? To bed after 
fatigue like this ! No, no, Tiernay ; that was not the school 
in which I was brought up. We were taught to think of the 
men under our command ; to remember that they had wants, 
sympathies, hopes, fears, and emotions like our own. I tell 
him to seat himself at the table, and with pen, ink, and paper 
before him to write up the blanks. I see you don’t quite 
understand me, Tiernay, as to the meaning of the phrase, 
but I ’ll let you into the secret. You have been kind enough 
to give me a peep at your note-book, and you shall in return 
have a look at mine. Open that volume, and tell me what 
you find in it.” 

I obeyed the direction, and read at the top of a page the 
words, 44 Skeleton, Fifth Prairial,” in large characters, fol- 


134 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


lowed by several isolated words, denoting the strength of a 
brigade, the number of guns in a battery, the depth of a fosse, 
the height of a parapet, and such like. These were usually 
followed by a flourish of the pen, or sometimes by the word 
“ Bom.,” which singular monosyllable always occurred at the 
foot of the pages. 

“ Well, have you caught the key to the cipher? ” said he, 
after a pause. 

“ Not quite, sir,” said I, pondering ; “I can perceive that 
the chief facts stand prominently forward, in a fair round 
hand ; I can also guess that the flourishes may be spaces 
left for detail ; but this word ‘ Bom.’ puzzles me completely.” 

“ Quite correct, as to the first part,” said he, approvingly ; 
“ and as to the mysterious monosyllable, it is nothing more 
than an abbreviation for ‘ Bombaste,’ which is always to be 
done to the taste of each particular commanding officer.” 

“I perceive, sir,” said I, quickly, — “like the wadding 
of a gun, which may increase the loudness, but never affect 
the strength of the shot.” 

“Precisely, Tiernay ; you have hit it exactly. Now, I 
hope that with a little practice you may be able to acquit 
yourself respectably in this walk; and now to begin our 
skeleton. Turn over to a fresh page, and write as I dictate 
to you.” 

So saying, he filled his pipe and lighted it, and disposing 
his limbs in an attitude of perfect ease, he began : — 

“ 8th Thermidor, midnight. Twelve battalions and two 
batteries of field ; boats and rafts ; Eslar Island ; stockades ; 
eight guns ; Swabian infantry ; sharp firing, and a flourish ; 
strong current — flourish; detachment of the Twenty-eighth 
carried down — Bom. Let me see it now, — all right ; noth- 
ing could be better ; proceed. The Tenth, Forty-fifth, and 
Forty-eighth landing together ; more firing — flourish ; first 
gun captured — Bom. ; bayonet charges — Bom. Bom. ; three 
guns taken — Bom. Bom. Bom. ; Swabs in retreat — flour- 
ish ; the bridge eighty toises in length ; flanking fire ; heavy 
loss — flourish.” 

“ You go a little too fast, mon capitaine” said I, for a 
sudden bright thought just flashed across me. 

“Very well,” said he, shaking the ashes of his pipe out 


A GLANCE AT STAFF-DUTY. 1 


135 


upon the rock, “ I ’ll take my doze, and you may awaken me 
when you ’ve filled in those details, — it will be a very fair 
exercise for you ; ” and with this he threw his handkerchief 
over his face, and without any other preparation was soon 
fast asleep. 

I own that if I had not been a spectator of the action it 
would have been very difficult, if not impossible, for me to 
draw up anything like a narrative of it from the meagre 
details of the captain’s note-book. My personal observa- 
tions, however, assisted by an easy imagination, suggested 
quite enough to make at least a plausible story, and I wrote 
away without impediment and halt till I came to that part 
of the action in which the retreat over the bridge commenced. 
There I stopped. Was I to remain satisfied with such a 
crude and one-sided explanation as the note-book afforded, 
and merely say that the retreating forces were harassed by 
a strong flank fire from our batteries? Was I to omit the 
whole of the great incident, the occupation of the Fels Insel, 
and the damaging discharges of grape and round shot which 
plunged through the crowded ranks, and ultimately destroyed 
the bridge ? Could I, to use the phrase so popular, — could 
I, in the “interests of truth,” forget the brilliant achieve- 
ment of a gallant band of heroes, who, led on by a young 
hussar of the Ninth, threw themselves into the Fels Insel, 
routed the garrison, captured the artillery, and directing its 
fire upon the retiring enemy, contributed most essentially to 
the victory. Ought I, in a word, to suffer a name so asso- 
ciated with a glorious action to sink into oblivion? Should 
Maurice Tiernay be lost to fame out of any neglect or false 
shame on my part? Forbid it all truth and justice ! cried I, 
as I set myself down to relate the whole adventure most 
circumstantially. Looking up from time to time at my offi- 
cer, who slept soundly, I suffered myself to dilate upon a 
theme in which somehow I felt a more than ordinary degree 
of interest. The more I dwelt upon the incident, the more 
brilliant and striking did it seem. Like the appetite, which 
the proverb tells us comes by eating, my enthusiasm grew 
under indulgence, — so that, had a little more time been 
granted me, I verily believe I should have forgotten Moreau 
altogether, and coupled only Maurice Tiernay with the pas- 


136 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


sage of the Rhine and the capture of the fortress of Kehl. 
Fortunately, Captain Discau awoke and cut short my historic 
recollections by asking me how much I had done, and telling 
me to read it aloud to him. 

I accordingly began to read my narrative slowly and 
deliberately, thereby giving myself time to think what I 
should best do when I came to that part which became purely 
personal. To omit it altogether would have been dangerous, 
as the slightest glance at the mass of writing would have 
shown the deception. There was, then, nothing left but to 
invent at the moment another version, in which Maurice 
Tiernay never occurred, and the incident of the Fels Insel 
should figure as unobtrusively as possible. I was always a 
better improvisatore than amanuensis; so that without a 
moment’s loss of time I fashioned a new and very different 
narrative, and detailed the battle tolerably accurately, minus 
the share my own heroism had taken in it. The captain 
made a few, a very few corrections of my style, in which 
the “flourish” and “bom” figured perhaps too conspicu- 
ously ; and then told me frankly that once upon a time he 
had been fool enough to give himself great trouble in fram- 
ing this kind of report, but that having served for a short 
period in the bureau of the minister of war, he had learned 
better. “ In fact,” said he, “a district report is never read. 
Some hundreds of them reach the office of the minister every 
day, and are safely deposited in the archives of the depart- 
ment. They have all, besides, such a family resemblance, 
that with a few changes in the name of the commanding offi- 
cer, any battle in the Netherlands would do equally well 
for one fought beyond the Alps. Since I became acquainted 
with this fact, Tiernay, I have bestowed less pains upon 
the matter, and usually deputed the task to some smart 
orderly of the staff.” 

So, thought I, I have been writing history for nothing ; 
and Maurice Tiernay, the real hero of the passage of the 
Rhine, will be unrecorded and unremembered, just for want 
of one honest and impartial scribe to transmit his name to 
posterity. The reflection was not a very encouraging one ; 
nor did it serve to lighten the toil in which I passed many 
weary hours, copying out my own precious manuscript. 


A GLANCE AT STAFF-DUTY. 1 


137 


Again and again during that night did I wonder at my own 
diffuseness ; again and again did I curse the prolix accuracy 
of a description that cost such labor to reiterate. It was 
like a species of poetical justice on me for my own ampli- 
fications ; and when the day broke, and I still sat at my 
table writing on, at the third copy of this precious docu- 
ment, I vowed a vow of brevity, should I ever survive to 
indite similar compositions. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A FAREWELL LETTER. 

It was in something less than a week after I entered upon 
my new career as orderly in the staff, that I began to 
believe myself the most miserable of all human beings. 
On the saddle at sunrise, I never dismounted, except to 
carry a measuring chain, “ to step distances,” mark out 
entrenchments, and then write away, for hours, long enor- 
mous reports, that were to be models of caligraphy, neatness, 
and elegance — and never to be read ! Nothing could be less 
like soldiering than the life I led ; and were it not for the 
clanking sabre I wore at my side, and the jingling spurs 
that decorated my heels, I might have fancied myself a 
notary’s clerk. It was part of General Moreau’s plan to 
strengthen the defences of Kehl before he advanced farther 
into Germany ; and to this end repairs were begun upon a 
line of earthworks, about two leagues to the northward of 
the fortress, at a small village called Ekheim. In this 
miserable little hole, one of the dreariest spots imaginable, 
we were quartered, with two companies of sapeurs and 
some of the wagon-train, trenching, digging, carting earth, 
sinking wells, and in fact engaged in every kind of labor 
save that which seemed to be characteristic of a soldier. 

I used to think that Nancy and the riding-school were the 
most dreary and tiresome of all destinies, but they were 
enjoyment and delight compared with this. Now, it very 
often happens in life that when a man grows discontented 
and dissatisfied with mere monotony, when he chafes at the 
sameness of a tiresome and unexciting existence, he is 
rapidly approaching to some critical or eventful point, where 
actual peril and real danger assail him, and from which he 
would willingly buy his escape by falling back upon that 


A FAREWELL LETTER. 


139 


wearisome and plodding life he had so often deplored before. 
This case was my own. Just as I had convinced myself 
that I was exceedingly wretched and miserable, I was to 
know there are worse things in this world than a life of 
mere uniform stupidity. I was waiting outside my captain’s 
door for orders one morning, when at the tinkle of his little 
hand-bell I entered the room where he sat at breakfast, with 
an open despatch before him. 

“ Tiernay,” said he, in his usual quiet tone, “ here is an 
order from the adjutant-general to send you back under 
an escort to head-quarters. Are you aware of any reason 
for it, or is there any charge against you which warrants 
this?” 

“Not to my knowledge, mon capitaine ,” said I, trembling 
with fright, for I well knew with what severity discipline 
was exercised in that army, and how any, even the slightest, 
infractions met the heaviest penalties. 

“ I have never known you to pillage,” continued he, “ have 
never seen you drink, nor have you been disobedient while 
under my command ; yet this order could not be issued on 
light grounds. There must be some grave accusation against 
you, and in any case you must go ; therefore arrange all my 
papers, put everything to rights, and be ready to return with 
the orderly.” 

“ You’ll give me a good character, mon capitaine ,” said I, 
trembling more than ever, — “ you’ll say what you can for 
me, I’m sure ? ” 

“ Willingly, if the general or chief were here,” replied he ; 
‘ ‘ but that ’s not so. General Moreau is at Strasbourg. It 
is General Regnier that is in command of the army, and 
unless specially applied to, I could not venture upon the 
liberty of obtruding my opinion upon him.” 

“Is he so severe, sir? ” asked I, timidly. 

“ The general is a good disciplinarian,” said he, cautiously, 
while he motioned with his hand towards the door; and 
accepting the hint, I retired. 

It was evening when I re-entered Kehl, under an escort 
of two of my own regiment, and was conducted to the 
Salle de Police. At the door stood my old corporal, whose 
malicious grin, as I alighted, revealed the whole story of 


140 


MAURICE TEERNAY. 


my arrest ; and I now knew the charge that would he pre- 
ferred against me — a heavier there could not be made — was 
“ disobedience in the field.” I slept very little that night, 
and when I did close my eyes it was to awake with a sudden 
start, and believe myself in presence of the court-martial, 
or listening to my sentence as read out by the president. 
Towards day, however, I sunk into a heavy, deep slumber, 
from which I was aroused by the reveillee of the barracks. 

I had barely time to dress when I was summoned before the 
Tribunale Militaire, — a sort of permanent court-martial, 
whose sittings were held in one of the churches of the town. 
Not even all the terror of my own precarious position could 
overcome the effect of old prejudices in my mind, as I saw 
myself led up the dim aisle of the church towards the altar 
rails, within which, around a large table, were seated a 
number of officers, whose manner and bearing evinced but 
little reverence for the sacred character of the spot. 

Stationed in a group of poor wretches whose wan looks 
and anxious glances told that they were prisoners like my- 
self, I had time to see what was going forward around me. 
The President, who alone wore his hat, read from a sort of 
list before him the name of a prisoner and that of the 
witnesses in the cause. In an instant they were all drawn 
up and sworn. A few questions followed, rapidly put, and 
almost as rapidly replied to. The prisoner was called on 
then for his defence : if this occupied many minutes, he was 
sure to be interrupted by an order to be brief. Then came 
the command to “stand by;” and after a few seconds’* 
consultation together, in which many times a burst of laugh- 
ter might be heard, the court agreed upon the sentence, 
recorded and signed it, and then proceeded with the next 
case. 

If nothing in the procedure imposed reverence or respect, 
there was that in the dispatch which suggested terror, for it 
was plain to see that the Court thought more of the cost of 
their own precious minutes than of the years of those on 
whose fate they were deciding. I was sufficiently near to 
hear the charges of those who were arraigned, and, for the 
greater number, they were all alike. Pillage, in one form or 
another, was the universal offending ; and from the burning 


A FAREWELL LETTER. 


141 


of a peasant’s cottage to the theft of his dog or his pou- 
let, all came under this head. At last came No. 82, — 
“Maurice Tiernay, hussar of the Ninth.” I stepped 
forward to the rails. 

“Maurice Tiernay,” read the President, hurriedly, 
“ accused by Louis Gaussin, corporal of the same regiment, 

4 of wilfully deserting his post while on duty in the field, and 
in the face of direct orders to the contrary ; inducing others 
to a similar breach of discipline.’ Make the charge, Gaussin.” 
The corporal stepped forward, and began : — 

“We were stationed in detachment on the bank of the 
Rhine, on the evening of the 23d — ” 

“The Court has too many duties to lose its time for 
nothing,” interrupted I. “It is all true. I did desert my 
post, I did disobey orders ; and seeing a weak point in the 
enemy’s line, attacked and carried it with success. The 
charge is, therefore, admitted by me, and it only remains for 
the Court to decide how far a soldier’s zeal for his country 
may be deserving of punishment. Whatever the result, one 
thing is perfectly clear, — Corporal Gaussin will never be 
indicted for a similar misdemeanor.” 

A murmur of voices and suppressed laughter followed this 
impertinent and not over-discreet sally of mine, and the 
President, calling out “Proven by acknowledgment,” told 
me to “ stand by.” I now fell back to my former place, to 
be interrogated by my comrades on the result of my exami- 
nation, and hear their exclamations of surprise and terror at 
the rashness of my conduct. A little reflection over the 
circumstances would probably have brought me over to their 
opinion, and shown me that I had gratuitously thrown away 
an opportunity of self-defence; but my temper could not 
brook the indignity of listening to the tiresome accusation 
and the stupid malevolence of the corporal, whose hatred was 
excited by the influence I wielded over my comrades. 

It was long past noon ere the proceedings terminated, for 
the list was a full one ; and at length the Court rose, appar- 
ently not sorry to exchange their tiresome duties for the 
pleasant offices of the dinner-table. No sentences had been 
pronounced, but one very striking incident seemed to 
shadow forth a gloomy future. Three, of whom I was one, 


142 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


were marched off, doubly guarded, before the rest, and con- 
fined in separate cells of the Salle, where every precaution 
against escape too plainly showed the importance attached 
to our safe keeping. 

At about eight o’clock, as I was sitting on my bed, — if 
that inclined plane of wood, worn by the form of many a 
former prisoner, could deserve the name, — a sergeant 
entered with the prison allowance of bread and water. He 
placed it beside me without speaking, and stood for a few 
seconds gazing at me. 

“ What age art thou, lad? ” said he, in a voice of com- 
passionate interest. 

“ Something over fifteen, I believe,” replied I. 

“ Hast father and mother? ” 

“ Both are dead.” 

“ Uncles or aunts living? ” 

“ Neither.” 

“ Hast any friends who could help thee? ” 

“ That might depend on what the occasion for help should 
prove, for I have one friend in the world.” 

“Who is he?” 

“ Colonel Mahon, of the Cuirassiers.” 

“ I never heard of him ; is he here? ” 

“No, I left him at Nancy ; but I could write to him.” 

“ It would be too late, much too late.” 

“ How do you mean — too late? ” asked I, tremblingly. 

“ Because it is fixed for to-morrow evening,” replied he, in 
a low, hesitating voice. 

“What? the — the — ”1 could not say the word, but 
merely imitated the motion of presenting and firing. He 
nodded gravely in acquiescence. 

“ What hour is it to take place? ” asked I. 

“ After evening parade. The sentence must be signed by 
General Berthier, and he will not be here before that time.” 

“It would be too late then, sergeant,” said I, musing, 
“far too late. Still, I should like to write the letter; I 
should like to thank him for his kindness in the past, and 
show him, too, that I have not been either unworthy or un- 
grateful. Could you let me have paper and pen, sergeant? ” 

“I can venture so far, lad; but I cannot let thee have a 


A FAREWELL LETTER. 143 

light, it is against orders ; and during the day thou ’It be too 
strictly watched.” 

“No matter ; let me have the paper and I ’ll try to scratch 
a few lines in the dark ; and thou ’It post it for me, sergeant? 
I ask thee as a last favor to do this.” 

“ I promise it,” said he, laying his hand on my shoulder. 
After standing for a few minutes thus in silence, he started 
suddenly and left the cell. 

I now tried to eat my supper, but although resolved on 
behaving with a stout and unflinching courage throughout 
the whole sad event, I could not swallow a mouthful. A 
sense of choking stopped me at every attempt, and even the 
water I could only get down by gulps. The efforts I made 
to bear up seemed to have caused a species of hysterical 
excitement that actually rose to the height of intoxication, 
for I talked away loudly to myself, laughed, and sung. I 
even jested and mocked myself on this sudden termination of 
a career that I used to anticipate as stored with future fame 
and rewards. At intervals I have no doubt that my mind 
wandered far beyond the control of reason, but as constantly 
came back again to a full consciousness of my melancholy 
position and the fate that awaited me. The noise of the 
key in the door silenced my ravings, and I sat still and 
motionless as the sergeant entered with the pen, ink, and 
paper, which he laid down upon the bed, and then as silently 
withdrew. 

A long interval of stupor, a state of dreary half conscious- 
ness, now came over me, from which I aroused myself with 
great difficulty to write the few lines I destined for Colonel 
Mahon. I remember even now, long as has been the space 
of years since that event, full as it has been of stirring and 
strange incidents, — I remember perfectly the thought which 
flashed across me as I sat, pen in hand, before the paper. It 
was the notion of a certain resemblance between our actions 
in this world with the characters I was about to inscribe 
upon that paper. Written in darkness and in doubt, thought 
I, how shall they appear when brought to the light ? Per- 
haps those I have deemed the best and fairest shall seem but 
to be the weakest or the worst ! What need of kindness to 
forgive the errors, and of patience to endure the ignorance ! 
At last I began. 


144 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ Mon Colonel, — Forgive, I pray you, the errors of these lines, 
penned in the darkness of my cell, and the night before my death. 
They are written to thank you ere I go hence, and to tell you that 
the poor heart whose beating will soon be still, throbbed gratefully 
towards you to the last ! I have been sentenced to death for a 
breach of discipline of which I was guilty. Had I failed in the 
achievement of my enterprise by the bullet of an enemy, they 
would have named me with honor ; but I have had the misfortune 
of success, and to-morrow am I to pay its penalty. I have the 
satisfaction, however, of knowing that my share in that great day 
can neither be denied nor evaded ; it is already on record, and the 
time may yet come when my memory will be vindicated. I know 
not if these lines be legible, nor if I have crossed or recrossed 
them. If they are blotted, they are not my tears have done it, for 
I have a firm heart and a good courage ; and when the moment 
comes — ” 

Here my hand trembled so much, and my brain grew so 
dizzy, that I lost the thread of my meaning, and merely 
jotted down at random a few words, vague, unconnected, 
and unintelligible ; after which, and by an effort that cost all 
my strength, I wrote “Maurice Tiernay, late hussar of the 
Ninth Regiment.” 

A hearty burst of tears followed the conclusion of this 
letter; all the pent-up emotion with which my heart was 
charged broke out at last, and I cried bitterly. Intense 
passions are, happily, never of long duration, and, better 
still, they are always the precursors of calm. Thus tranquil, 
the dawn of morn broke upon me, when the sergeant came 
to take my letter, and apprise me that the adjutant would 
appear in a few moments to read my sentence, and inform 
me when it was to be executed. 

“ Thou It bear up well, lad ; I know thou wilt,” said the 
poor fellow, with tears in his eyes. “ Thou hast no mother, 
and thou ’It not have to grieve for her.” 

“Don’t be afraid, sergeant; I’ll not disgrace the old 
Ninth. Tell my comrades I said so.” 

“ I will. I will tell them all ! Is this thy jacket, lad? ” 

“ Yes ; what do you want it for? ” 

“ I must take it away with me. Thou art not to wear it 
more.” 

“Not wear it, nor die in it ! and why not? ” 


A FAREWELL LETTER. 


145 


“That is the sentence, lad; I cannot help it. It’s very 
hard, very cruel ; but so it is.” 

“Then I am to die dishonored, sergeant! is that the 
sentence ? ” 

He dropped his head, and I could see that he moved his 
sleeve across his eyes ; and then, taking up my jacket, he 
came towards me. 

“Remember, lad! a stout heart; no flinching. Adieu! 
God bless thee.” He kissed me on either cheek, and went 
out. 

He had not been gone many minutes when the tramp of 
marching outside apprised me of the coming of the adjutant, 
and the door of my cell being thrown open I was ordered to 
walk forth into the court of the prison. Two squadrons of 
my own regiment, all who were not on duty, were drawn up, 
dismounted, and without arms ; beside them stood a com- 
pany of grenadiers and a half battalion of the line, the corps 
to which the other two prisoners belonged, and who now 
came forward, in shirt-sleeves like myself, into the middle of 
the court. 

One of my fellow-sufferers was a very old soldier, whose 
hair and beard were white as snow ; the other was a middle- 
aged man, of a dark and forbidding aspect, who scowled at 
me angrily as I came up to his side, and seemed as if he 
scorned the companionship. I returned a glance, haughty 
and as full of defiance as his own, and never noticed him 
after. 

The drum beat a roll, and the word was given for silence 
in the ranks, — an order so strictly obeyed that even the 
clash of a weapon was unheard, — and stepping in front of 
the line, the Auditeur Militaire read out the sentences. As 
for me, I heard but the words “ Peine afflictive et infamante ; ” 
all the rest became confusion, shame, and terror commingled ; 
nor did I know that the ceremonial was over when the troops 
began to defile, and we were marched back again to our 
prison quarters. 


10 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A SURPRISE AND AN ESCAPE. 

It is a very common subject of remark in newspapers, and as 
invariably repeated with astonishment by the readers, how 
well and soundly such a criminal slept on the night before his 
execution. It reads like a wonderful evidence of composure, 
or some not less surprising proof of apathy or indifference. 
I really believe it has as little relation to one feeling as to 
the other, and is simply the natural consequence of faculties 
over- strained, and a brain surcharged with blood, — sleep 
being induced by causes purely physical in their nature. 
For myself, I can say that I was by no means indifferent to 
life, nor had I any contempt for the form of death that 
awaited me. As localities which have failed to inspire a 
strong attachment become endowed with a certain degree 
of interest when we are about to part from them forever, 
I never held life so desirable as now that I was going to 
leave it ; and yet, with all this, I fell into a sleep so heavy 
and profound that I never awoke till late in the evening. 
Twice was I shaken by the shoulder ere I could throw off 
the heavy weight of slumber ; and even when I looked up, 
and saw the armed figures around me, I could have lain down 
once more and composed myself to another sleep. 

The first thing which thoroughly aroused me, and at once 
brightened up my slumbering senses, was missing my jacket, 
for which I searched every corner of my cell, — forgetting 
that it had been taken away, as the nature of my sentence 
was declared infamante. The next shock was still greater, 
when two sapeurs came forward to tie my wrists together 
behind my back ; I neither spoke nor resisted, but in silent 
submission complied with each order given me. 

All preliminaries being completed, I was led forward, pre- 
ceded by a pioneer and guarded on either side by two sapeurs 


A SURPRISE AND AN ESCAPE. 


14T 


of the guard, a muffled drum, ten paces in advance, keep- 
ing up a low monotonous rumble as we went. 

Our way led along the ramparts, beside which ran a row ' 
of little gardens, in which the children of the officers were at 
play. They ceased their childish gambols as we drew near, 
and came closer up to watch us. I could mark the terror and 
pity in their little faces as they gazed at me ; I could see the 
traits of compassion with which they pointed me out to each 
other, and my heart swelled with gratitude for even so slight 
a sympathy. It was with difficulty I could restrain the emo- 
tion of that moment ; but with a great effort I did subdue it, 
and marched on, to all seeming, unmoved. A little farther 
on, as we turned the angle of the wall, I looked back to catch 
one last look at them. Would that I had never done so ! 
They had quitted the railings, and were now standing in a 
group, in the act of performing a mimic execution. One, 
without his jacket, was kneeling on the grass. But I could 
not bear the sight, and in scornful anger I closed my eyes, 
and saw no more. 

A low whispering conversation was kept up by the soldiers 
around me. They were grumbling at the long distance they 
had to march, as the 44 affair” might just as well have taken 
place on the glacis as two miles away. How different were 
my feelings ! how dear to me was now every minute, every 
second of existence ! how my heart leaped at each turn of 
the way, as I still saw a space to traverse and some little 
interval longer to live! 

44 And mayhap after all,” muttered one dark-faced fellow, 
“we shall have come all this way for nothing. There can 
be no 4 fusillade ’ without the general’s signature, so I heard 
the adjutant say ; and who ’s to promise that he ’ll be at his 
quarters ? ” 

44 Very true,” said another ; 44 he may be absent, or at table.” 

44 At table ! ” cried two or three together ; 44 and what if he 
were ? ” 

44 If he be,” rejoined the former speaker, 44 we may go back 
again for our pains ! I ought to know him well ; I was his 
orderly for eight months, when I served in the 4 Legers,’ and 
can tell you, my lads, I would n’t be the officer who would 
bring him a report or a return to sign when once he had 


148 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


opened out his napkin on his knee ; and it ? s not very far 
from his dinner-hour now.” 

What a sudden thrill of hope ran through me ! Perhaps 
I should be spared for another day. 

“ No, no, we ’re all in time,” exclaimed the sergeant ; “I 
can see the general’s tent from this; and there he stands 
with all his staff around him.” 

“Yes; and there go the other escorts, — they will be up 
before us if we don’t make haste ; quick-time, lads ! Come 
along, mon cher ,” said he, addressing me; “thou’rt not 
tired, I hope ? ” 

“Not tired ! ” replied I ; u but remember, sergeant, what 
a long journey I have before me.” 

“ Par die! I don’t believe all that rhodomontade about 
another world,” said he, gruffly; “the Republic settled that 
question.” 

I made no reply, for such words at such a moment were 
the most terrible of tortures to me. And now we moved on 
at a brisker pace, and crossing a little wooden bridge entered 
a kind of esplanade of closely-shaven turf, at one corner of 
which stood the capacious tent of the commander-in-chief, for 
such in Moreau’s absence was General Berthier. Numbers 
of staff-officers were riding about on duty, and a large travel- 
ling-carriage, from which the horses seemed recently detached, 
stood before the tent. 

We halted as we crossed the bridge, while the adjutant 
advanced to obtain the signature to the sentence. My eyes 
followed him till they swam with rising tears, and I could 
not wipe them away, as my hands were fettered. How 
rapidly did my thoughts travel during those few moments ! 
The good old Pere Michel came back to me in memory, 
and I tried to think of the consolation his presence would 
have afforded me ; but I could do no more than think of 
them. 

“ Which is the prisoner Tiernay? ” cried a young aide-de- 
camp, cantering up to where I was standing. 

“ Here, sir,” replied the sergeant, pushing me forward. 

“So,” rejoined the officer, angrily, “this fellow has been 
writing letters, it would seem, reflecting upon the justice of 
his sentence, and arraigning the conduct of his judges. Your 


A SURPRISE AND AN ESCAPE. 


149 


epistolary tastes are like to cost you dearly, my lad ; it had 
been better for you if writing had been omitted in your 
education. Reconduct the others, sergeant, — they are 
respited; this fellow alone is to undergo his sentence.” 

The other two prisoners gave a short and simultaneous 
cry of joy as they fell back, and I stood alone in front of the 
escort. 

“ Parbleu! he has forgotten the signature,” said the ad- 
jutant, casting his eye over the paper ; “he was chattering 
and laughing all the time, with the pen in his hand, and I 
suppose fancied that he had signed it.” 

“ Nathalie was there, perhaps,” said the aide-de-camp, 
significantly. 

“ She was, and I never saw her looking better. It ’s some- 
thing like eight years since I saw her last ; and I vow she 
seems not only handsomer but fresher and more youthful 
to-day than then.” 

“ Where is she going, — have you heard? ” 

“ Who can tell ? Her passport is like a firman, — she may 
travel where she pleases. The rumor of the day says 
Italy.” 

“I thought she looked provoked at Moreau’s absence; it 
seemed like want of attention on his part, a lack of courtesy 
she ’s not used to.” 

“Very true; and her reception of Berthier was anything 
but gracious, although he certainly displayed all his civilities 
in her behalf.” 

“Strange days we live in!” sighed the other, “when 
a man’s promotion hangs upon the favorable word of 
a — ” 

“Hush! take care! be cautious!” whispered the other. 
“ Let us not forget this poor fellow’s business. How are you 
to settle it? Is the signature of any consequence? The 
whole sentence is all right and regular.” 

“ I should n’t like to omit the signature,” said the other, 
cautiously ; “it looks like carelessness, and might involve us 
in trouble hereafter.” 

“ Then we must wait some time, for I see they are gone to 
dinner.” 

“ So I perceive,” replied the former, as he lighted his 


150 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


cigar, and seated himself on a bank. “You may let the 
prisoner sit down, sergeant, and leave his hands free : he 
looks wearied and exhausted.” 

I was too weak to speak, but I looked my gratitude; 
and sitting down upon the grass, covered my face and wept 
heartily. 

Although quite close to where the officers sat together 
chatting and jesting, I heard little or nothing of what they 
said. Already the things of life had ceased to have any hold 
upon me ; and I could have heard of the greatest victory, or 
listened to a story of the most fatal defeat, without the 
slightest interest or emotion. An occasional word or a name 
would strike upon my ear, but leave no impression nor any 
memory behind it. 

The military band was performing various marches and 
opera airs before the tent where the general dined; and in 
the melody, softened by distance, I felt a kind of calm and 
sleepy repose that lulled me into a species of ecstasy. 

At last the music ceased to play, and the adjutant, starting 
hurriedly up, called on the sergeant to move forward. 

“By Jove!” cried he, “they seem preparing for a pro- 
menade, and we shall get into a scrape if Berthier sees us 
here. Keep your party yonder, sergeant, out of sight, till I 
obtain the signature.” 

And so saying, away he went towards the tent at a sharp 
gallop. 

A few seconds, and I watched him crossing the esplanade ; 
he dismounted and disappeared. A terrible choking sen- 
sation was over me, and I scarcely was conscious that they 
were again tying my hands. The adjutant came out again, 
and made a sign with his sword. 

“We are to move on? ” said the sergeant, half in doubt. 

“ Not at all,” broke in the aide-de-camp ; “ he is making a 
sign for you to bring up the prisoner. There, he is repeating 
the signal, — lead him forward.” 

I knew very little of how, less still of why ; but we moved 
on in the direction of the tent, and in a few minutes stood 
before it. The sounds of revelry and laughter, the crash of 
voices and the clink of glasses, together with the hoarseness 
of the brass band, which again struck up, — all were com- 


A SURPRISE AND AN ESCAPE. 


151 


mingled in my brain, as taking me by the arm I was led for- 
ward within the tent, and found myself at the foot of a table 
covered with all the gorgeousness of silver plate, and glow- 
ing with bouquets of flowers and fruits. In the one hasty 
glance I gave, before my lids fell over my swimming eyes, I 
could see the splendid uniforms of the guests as they sat 
around the board, and the magnificent costume of a lady in 
the place of honor next the head. 

Several of those who sat at the lower end of the table 
drew back their seats as I came forward, and seemed as if 
desirous to give the general a better view of me. 

Overwhelmed by the misery of my fate, as I stood awaiting 
my death, I felt as though a mere word, a look, would have 
crushed me but one moment back ; but now, as I stood there 
before that group of gazei's, whose eyes scanned me with looks 
of insolent disdain or still more insulting curiosity, a sense 
of proud defiance seized me to confront and dare them with 
glances haughty and scornful as their own. It seemed to me 
so base and unworthy a part to summon a poor wretch 
before them, as if to whet their new appetite for enjoyment 
by the aspect of his misery, that an indignant anger took 
possession of me, and I drew myself up to my full height, 
and stared at them calm and steadily. 

44 So, then,” cried a deep soldier-like voice from the far 
end of the table, which I at once recognized as the general- 
in-chief’s, — 44 so, then, gentlemen, we have now the honor 
of seeing amongst us the hero of the Rhine ! This is the 
distinguished individual by whose prowess the passage of the 
river was effected, and the Swabian infantry cut off in their 
retreat! Is it not true, sir?” said he, addressing me with a 
savage scowl. 

44 I have had my share in the achievement,” said I with 
the cool air of defiance. 

4 4 Parbleu ! you are modest, sir. So had every drummer- 
boy that beat his tattoo ! But yours was the part of a great 
leader, if I err not? ” 

I made no answer, but stood firm and unmoved. 

44 How do you call the island which you have immortalized 
by your valor ? ” 

44 The Fels Insel, sir.” 


152 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ Gentlemen, let us drink to the hero of the Fels Insel,” 
said he, holding up his glass for the servant to fill it. “A 
bumper, — a full, a flowing bumper! And let him also 
pledge a toast in which his interest must be so brief. Give 
him a glass, Contard.” 

The order was obeyed in a second ; and I, summoning up 
all my courage to seem as easy and indifferent as they were, 
lifted the glass to my lips, and drained it off. 

“ Another glass now to the health of this fair lady, through 
whose intercession we owe the pleasure of your company,’' 
said the general. 

“ Willingly,” said I; “ and may one so beautiful seldom 
find herself in a society so unworthy of her ! ” 

A perfect roar of laughter succeeded the insolence of this 
speech ; amid which I was half pushed, half dragged, up to 
the end of the table, where the general sat. 

‘ ‘ How so, coquin l do you dare to insult a French gen- 
eral, at the head of his own staff ! ” 

“ If I did sir, it were quite as brave as to mock a poor 
criminal on the way to his execution ! ” 

“That is the boy! I know him now, — the very same 
lad ! ” cried the lady, as, stooping behind Berthier’s chair, 
she stretched out her hand towards me. “Come here; are 
you not Colonel Mahon’s godson?” 

I looked her full in the face ; and whether her own thoughts 
gave the impulse, or that something in my stare suggested it, 
she blushed till her cheek grew crimson. 

“Poor Charles was so fond of him! ” whispered she in 
Berthier’s ear; and as she spoke, the expression of her 
face at once recalled where I had seen her, and I now per- 
ceived that she was the same person I had seen at table with 
Colonel Mahon, and whom I believed to be his wife. 

A low whispering conversation now ensued between the 
general and her, at the close of which he turned to me and 
said, — 

‘ 4 Madame Merlancourt has deigned to take an interest in 
you ; you are pardoned. Remember, sir, to whom you owe 
your life, and be grateful to her for it.” 

I took the hand she extended towards me, and pressed it 
to my lips. 


A SURPRISE AND AN ESCAPE. 


153 


“ Madame,” said I, “ there is but one favor more I would 
ask in this world, and with it I could think myself happy.” 

“ But can I grant it, moncher? ” said she, smiling. 

“If I am to judge from the influence I have seen you 
wield, madame, here and elsewhere, this petition will easily 
be accorded.” 

A slight flush colored the lady’s cheek, while that of 
the general became dyed red with anger. I saw that I had 
committed some terrible blunder, but how or in what I knew 
not. 

“ Well, sir,” said Madame Merlancourt, addressing me 
with a stately coldness of manner, very different from her 
former tone, “ let us hear what you ask, for we are already 
taking up a vast deal of time that our host would prefer 
devoting to his friends : what is it you wish ? ” 

“My discharge from a service, madame, where zeal and 
enthusiasm are rewarded with infamy and disgrace; my 
freedom to be anything but a French soldier.” 

“You are resolved, sir, that I am not to be proud of my 
protege ,” said she, haughtily ; “ what words are these to speak 
in presence of a general and his officers ? ” 

“ I am bold, madame, as you say, but I am wronged.” 

“How so, sir? In what have you been injured?” cried 
the general, hastily, “ except in the excessive condescension 
which has stimulated your presumption. But we are really 
too indulgent in this long parley. Madame, permit me to 
offer you some coffee under the trees. Contardo, tell the 
band to follow us. Gentlemen, we expect the pleasure of 
your society.” 

And so saying, Berthier presented his arm to the lady, who 
swept proudly past without deigning to notice me. In a 
few minutes the tent was cleared of all except the servants 
occupied in removing the remains of the dessert ; and I fell 
back, unremarked and unobserved, to take my way home- 
ward to the barracks, more indifferent to life than ever I had 
been afraid of death. 

As I am not likely to recur at any length to the somewhat 
famous person to whom I owed my life, I may as well state 
that her name has since occupied no inconsiderable share 
of attention in France, and her history, under the title of 


154 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“Memoires d’une Contemporaine,” excited a degree of 
interest and anxiety in quarters which one might have 
fancied far above the reach of her revelations. At the time 
I speak of, I little knew the character of the age in which 
such influences were all powerful, nor how destinies very 
different from mine hung upon the favoritism of “La belle 
Nathalie.” Had I known these things, and, still more, had 
I known the sad fate to which she brought my poor friend 
Colonel Mahon, I might have scrupled to accept my life at 
such hands, or involved myself in a debt of gratitude to one 
for whom I was subsequently to feel nothing but hatred and 
aversion. It was indeed a terrible period, and in nothing 
more so than the fact that acts of benevolence and charity 
were blended with features of falsehood, treachery, and 
baseness, which made one despair of humanity, and think 
the very worst of their species. 


CHAPTER XV. 


SCRAPS OF HISTORY. 

Nothing displays more powerfully the force of egotism than 
the simple truth that when any man sits himself down to 
write the events of his life, the really momentous occurrences 
in which he may have borne a part occupy a conspicuously 
small place, when each petty incident of a merely personal 
nature is dilated and extended beyond all bounds. In one 
sense the reader benefits by this, since there are few imper- 
tinences less forgivable than the obtrusion of some insig- 
nificant name into the narrative of facts that are meet for 
history. I have made these remarks in a spirit of apology 
to my reader, — not alone for the accuracy of my late detail, 
but also if I should seem in future to dwell but passingly on 
the truly important facts of a great campaign, in which my 
own part was so humble. 

I was a soldier in that glorious army which Moreau led 
into the heart of Germany, and whose victorious career 
would only have ceased when they entered the capital of the 
Empire, had it not been for the unhappy mistakes of Jour- 
dan, who commanded the auxiliary forces in the north. For 
nigh three months we advanced steadily and successfully, 
superior in every engagement; we only waited for the 
moment of junction with Jourdan’s army, to declare the 
Empire our own ; when at last came the terrible tidings that 
he had been beaten, and that Latour was advancing from 
Ulm to turn our left flank, and cut off our communications 
with France. 

Two hundred miles from our own frontiers; separated 
from the Rhine by that terrible Black Forest whose defiles 
are mere gorges between vast mountains ; with an army fifty 
thousand strong on one flank, and the Archduke Charles 


156 


MAURICE TIERNAY 


commanding a force of nigh thirty thousand on the other, — 
such were the dreadful combinations which now threatened 
us with a defeat not less signal than Jourdan’s own. Our 
strength, however, lay in a superb army of seventy thousand 
unbeaten men, led on by one whose name alone was victory. 

On the 24th of September the order for retreat was given ; 
the army began to retire by slow marches, prepared to con- 
test every inch of ground, and make every available spot a 
battle-field. The baggage and ammunition were sent on in 
front, and two days’ march in advance. Behind, a formid- 
able rear-guard was ready to repulse every attack of the 
enemy. Before, however, entering those close defiles by 
which his retreat lay, Moreau determined to give one terrible 
lesson to his enemy. Like the hunted tiger turning upon his 
pursuers, he suddenly halted at Biberach, and ere Latour, 
who commanded the Austrians, was aware of his purpose, 
assailed the Imperial forces with an attack on right, centre, 
and left together. Four thousand prisoners and eighteen 
pieces of cannon were the trophies of the victory. 

The day after this decisive battle our march was resumed, 
and the advanced-guard entered that narrow and dismal 
defile which goes by the name of the u Valley of Hell,” when 
our left and right flanks, stationed at the entrance of the 
pass, effectually secured the retreat against molestation. 
The voltigeurs of St. Cyr, crowning the heights as we went, 
swept away the light troops which were scattered along the 
rocky eminences, and in less than a fortnight our army 
debouched by Fribourg and Oppenheim into the valley of the 
Rhine, not a gun having been lost, not a caisson deserted, 
during that perilous movement. 

The Archduke, however, having ascertained the direction 
of Moreau’s retreat, advanced by a parallel pass through the 
Kinzigthal, and attacked St. Cyr at Nauendorf, and defeated 
him. Our right flank, severely handled at Emmendingen, 
the whole force was obliged to retreat on Huningen ; and 
once more we found ourselves upon the banks of the Rhine, 
no longer an advancing army, high in hope, and flushed with 
victory, but beaten, harassed, and retreating ! 

The last few days of that retreat presented a scene of 
disaster such as I can never forget. To avoid the furious 


SCRAPS OF HISTORY. 


157 


charges of the Austrian cavalry, against which our own could 
no longer make resistance, we had fallen back upon a line of 
country cut up into rocky cliffs and precipices, and covered 
by a dense pine forest. Here, necessarily broken up into 
small parties, we were assailed by the light troops of the 
enemy, led on through the various passes by the peasantry, 
whose animosity our own severity had excited. It was there- 
fore a continual hand-to-hand struggle, in which, opposed as 
we were to over numbers well acquainted with every advan- 
tage of the ground, our loss was terrific. It is said that nigh 
seven thousand men fell, — an immense number, when no 
general action had occurred. Whatever the actual loss, such 
were the circumstances of our army that Moreau hastened to 
propose an armistice, on the condition of the Rhine being 
the boundary between the two armies, while Kehl was still to 
be held by the French. 

The proposal was rejected by the Austrians, who at once 
commenced preparations for a siege of the fortress with 
forty thousand troops under Latour’s command. The earlier 
months of winter now passed in the labors of the siege, and 
on the morning of New Year’s Day the first attack was 
made ; the second line was carried a few days after, and, 
after a glorious defence by Desaix, the garrison capitulated, 
and evacuated the fortress on the 9th of the month. Thus, 
in the space of six short months had we advanced with a 
conquering army into the very heart of the Empire, and now 
we were back again within our own frontier, — not one single 
trophy of all our victories remaining, two thirds of our 
army dead or wounded ; more than all, the prestige of our 
superiority fatally injured, and that of the enemy’s valor and 
prowess as signally elevated. 

The short annals of a successful soldier are often com- 
prised in the few words which state how he was made lieu- 
tenant at such a date, promoted to his company here, 
obtained his majority there, succeeded to the command of 
his regiment at such a place, and so on. Now, my exploits 
may even be more briefly written as regards this campaign ; 
for whether at Kehl, at Nauendorf, on the Etz, or at Hunin- 
gen, I ended as I began, — a simple soldier of the ranks. A 
few slight wounds, a few still more insignificant words of 


158 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


praise, were all that I brought back with me. But if my 
trophies were small, I had gained considerably both in habits 
of discipline and obedience. I had learned to endure, ably 
and without complaining, the inevitable hardships of a cam- 
paign, and, better still, to see that the irrepressible impulses 
of the soldier, however prompted by zeal or heroism, may 
oftener mar than promote the more mature plans of his 
general. Scarcely had my feet once more touched French 
ground than I was seized with the ague, then raging as an 
epidemic among the troops, and sent forward with a large 
detachment of sick to the Military Hospital of Strasbourg. 

Here I bethought me of my patron, Colonel Mahon, and 
determined to write to him. For this purpose I addressed a 
question to the Adjutant-General’s office to ascertain the 
colonel’s address. The reply was a brief and stunning one, 
— he had been dismissed the service. No personal calamity 
could have thrown me into deeper affliction ; nor had I even 
the sad consolation of learning any of the circumstances of 
this misfortune. His death, even though thereby I should 
have lost my only friend, would have been a lighter evil than 
this disgrace, and coming as did the tidings when I was 
already broken by sickness and defeat, more than ever dis- 
gusted me with a soldier’s life. It was then with a feeling of 
total indifference that I heard a rumor which at another 
moment would have filled me with enthusiasm, — the order 
for all invalids sufficiently well to be removed, to be drafted 
into regiments serving in Italy. The fame of Bonaparte, 
who commanded that army, had now surpassed that of all 
the other generals ; his victories paled the glory of their 
successes, and it was already a mark of distinction to have 
served under his command. 

The walls of the hospital were scrawled over with the 
names of his victories ; rude sketches of Alpine passes, 
terrible ravines, or snow-clad peaks, met the eye everywhere ; 
and the one magical name “Bonaparte,” written beneath, 
seemed the key to all their meaning. With him war seemed 
to assume all the charms of romance. Each action was 
illustrated by feats of valor or heroism, and a halo of glory 
seemed to shine over all the achievements of his genius. 

It was a clear, bright morning of March, when a light 


SCRAPS OF HISTORY. 


159 


frost sharpened the air, and a fair, blue sky overhead showed 
a cloudless elastic atmosphere, that the “ invalides,” as we 
were all called, were drawn up in the great square of the 
hospital for inspection. Two superior officers of the staff, 
attended by several surgeons and an adjutant, sat at a table 
in front of us, on which lay the regimental books and con- 
duct-rolls of the different corps. Such of the sick as had 
received severe wounds, incapacitating them for further ser- 
vice, were presented with some slight reward, — a few francs 
in money, a greatcoat, or a pair of shoes, and obtained their 
freedom. Others, whose injuries were less important, re- 
ceived their promotion, or some slight increase of pay, — 
these favors being all measured by the character the indi- 
vidual bore in his regiment, and the opinion certified of him 
by his commanding officer. When my turn came and I stood 
forward, I felt a kind of shame to think how little claim I 
could prefer either to honor or advancement. 

“Maurice Tiernay, slightly wounded by a sabre at Nauen- 
dorf ; flesh-wound at Biberach ; enterprising and active, but 
presumptuous and overbearing with his comrades,” read out 
the adjutant, while he added a few words I could not hear, 
but at which the superior laughed heartily. 

“ What says the doctor?” asked he, after a pause. 

“This has been a bad case of ague, and I doubt if the 
young fellow will ever be fit for active service, — certainly 
not at present.” 

“ Is there a vacancy at Saumur? ” asked the general. “ I 
see he has been employed in the school at Nancy.” 

“Yes, sir; for the third class there is one.” 

“Let him have it, then. Tiernay, you are appointed as 
aspirant of the third class at the College of Saumur. Take 
care that the report of your conduct be more creditable than 
what is written here. Your opportunities will now be con- 
siderable, and if well employed, may lead to further honor 
and distinction; if neglected or abused, your chances are 
forfeited forever.” 

I bowed and retired, as little satisfied with the admonition 
as elated with a prospect which converted me from a soldier 
into a scholar, and in the first verge of manhood threw me 
back once more into the condition of a mere boy. 


160 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


Eighteen months of my life — not the least happy, per- 
haps, since in the peaceful portion I can trace so little to be 
sorry for — glided over beside the banks of the beautiful 
Loire, the intervals in the hours of study being spent either 
in the riding-school or the river, where, in addition to 
swimming and diving, we were instructed in pontooning and 
rafting, the modes of transporting ammunition and artillery, 
and the attacks of infantry by cavalry pickets. 

I also learned to speak and write English and German 
with great ease and fluency, besides acquiring some skill in 
military drawing and engineering. 

It is true that the imprisonment chafed sorely against us, 
as we read of the great achievements of our armies in various 
parts of the world; of the great battles of Cairo and the 
Pyramids, of Acre and Mount Thabor, — and of which a 
holiday and a fete were to be our only share. 

The terrible storms which shook Europe from end to end 
only reached us in the bulletins of new victories ; and we 
panted for the time when we too should be actors in the 
glorious exploits of France. 

It is already known to the reader that of the country from 
which my family came I myself knew nothing. The very 
little I had ever learned of it from my father was also a 
mere tradition ; still was I known among my comrades only 
as “ the Irishman,” and by that name was I recognized even 
in the record of the school, where I was inscribed thus : 
“Maurice Tiernay, dit l’lrlandais.” It was on this very 
simple and seemingly unimportant fact that my whole fate 
in life was to turn ; and in this wise — But the explanation 
deserves a chapter of its own, and shall have it. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


“AN OLD GENERAL OF THE IRISH BRIGADE.” 

In obedience to an order which arrived at Saumur one morn- 
ing in the July of 1798, I was summoned before the com- 
mandant of the school, when the following brief colloquy 
ensued : — 

“Maurice Tiernay,” said he, reading from the record of 
the school, “ why are you called l’lrlandais? ” 

“ I am Irish by descent, sir.” 

“Ha! by descent. Your father was, then, an Emigre?” 

“ No, sir, — my great-grandfather.” 

“ Parbleu! that is going very far back. Are you aware 
of the causes which induced him to leave his native 
country ? ” 

“ They were connected with political troubles, I ’ve heard, 
sir. He took part against the English, my father told me, 
and was obliged to make his escape to save his life.” 

“You, then, hate the English, Maurice?” 

“ My grandfather certainly did not love them, sir.” 

“ Nor can you, boy, ever forgive their having exiled your 
family from country and home ; every man of honor retains 
the memory of such injuries.” 

“ I can scarcely deem that an injury, sir, which has made 
me a French citizen,” said I, proudly. 

“True, boy, — you say what is perfectly true and just; 
any sacrifice of fortune or patrimony is cheap at such a 
price. Still, you have suffered a wrong, — a deep and irre- 
parable wrong, — and as a Frenchman you are ready to 
avenge it.” 

Although I had no very precise notion either as to the 
extent of the hardships done me, nor in what way I was 
to demand the reparation, I gave the assent he seemed to 
expect. 


11 


162 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“You are well acquainted with the language, I believe? ” 
continued he. 

“ I can read and speak English tolerably well, sir.” 

‘ ‘ But I speak of Irish, boy, — of the language which is 
spoken by your fellow-countrymen,” said he, rebukingly. 

“ I have always heard, sir, that this has fallen into disuse, 
and is little known save among the peasantry in a few 
secluded districts.” 

He seemed impatient as I said this, and referred once 
more to the paper before him, from whose minutes he 
appeared to have been speaking. 

“ You must be in error, boy. I find here that the nation 
is devotedly attached to its traditions and its literature, and 
feels no injury deeper than the insulting substitution of a 
foreign tongue for their own noble language.” 

“ Of myself I know nothing, sir; the little I have learned 
was acquired when a mere child.” 

“ Ah, then you probably forget, or may never have heard 
the fact ; but it is as I tell you. This, which I hold here, is 
the report of a highly-distinguished and most influential 
personage, who lays great stress upon the circumstance. I 
am sorry, Tiernay, very sorry, that you are unacquainted 
with the language.” 

He continued for some minutes to brood over this disap- 
pointment, and at last returned to the paper before him. 

“The geography of the country, — what knowledge have 
you on that subject ? ” 

“No more, sir, than I may possess of other countries, 
and merely learned from maps.” 

“Bad again,” muttered he to himself. “ Madgett calls 
these 1 essentials ; ’ but we shall see.” Then addressing me, 
he said : “ Tiernay, the object of my present interrogatory is 
to inform you that the Directory is about to send an expedi- 
tion to Ireland to assist in the liberation of that enslaved 
people. It has been suggested that young officers and 
soldiers of Irish descent might render peculiar service to the 
cause, and I have selected you for an opportunity which will 
convert those worsted epaulettes into bullion.” 

This at least was intelligible news, and now I began to 
listen with more attention. 


AN OLD GENERAL OF THE IRISH BRIGADE.” 163 


“ There is a report,” said he, laying down before me a 
very capacious manuscript, 44 which you will carefully peruse. 
Here are the latest pamphlets setting forth the state of public 
opinion in Ireland ; and here are various maps of the coast, 
the harbors, and the strongholds of that country, with all 
of which you may employ yourself advantageously ; and if, 
on considering the subject, you feel disposed to volunteer, — 
for as a volunteer only could your services be accepted, — 
I will willingly support your request by all the influence in 
my power.” 

44 I am ready to do so at once, sir,” said I, eagerly; “I 
have no need to know any more than you have told me.” 

44 Well said, boy ! I like your ardor. Write your petition 
and it shall be forwarded to-day. I will also try and obtain 
for you the same regimental rank you hold in the school,” — 
I was a sergeant; 44 it will depend upon yourself afterwards 
to secure a further advancement. You are now free from 
duty; lose no time, therefore, in storing your mind with 
every possible information, and be ready to set out at a 
moment’s notice.” 

44 Is the expedition so nearly ready, sir?” asked I, 
eagerly. 

He nodded, and with a significant admonition as to secrecy, 
dismissed me, bursting with anxiety to examine the stores of 
knowledge before me, and prepare myself with all the details 
of a plan in which already I took the liveliest interest. 
Before the week expired, I received an answer from the 
minister, accepting the offer of my services. The reply 
found me deep in those studies, which I scarcely could bear 
to quit even at meal times. Never did I experience such 
an all-devouring passion for a theme as on that occasion. 
4 4 Ireland ” never left my thoughts ; her wrongs and suffer- 
ings were everlastingly before me ; all the cruelties of cen- 
turies, all the hard tyranny of the penal laws, the dire 
injustice of caste oppression, filled me with indignation and 
anger; while, on the other hand, I conceived the highest 
admiration of a people who, undeterred by the might and 
power of England, resolved to strike a great blow for 
liberty. 

The enthusiasm of the people, the ardent darings of a 


164 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


valor whose impetuosity was its greatest difficulty, their 
high romantic temperament, their devotion, their gratitude, 
the childlike trustfulness of their natures, were all traits 
scattered through the various narratives which invariably 
attracted me, and drew me more strongly to their cause, — 
more from affection than reason. 

Madgett’s memoir was filled with these, and he, I con- 
cluded, must know them well, being, as it was asserted, one 
of the ancient nobility of the land, and who now desired 
nothing better than to throw rank, privilege, and title into 
the scale, and do battle for the liberty and equality of his 
countrymen. How I longed to see this great man, whom 
my fancy arrayed in all the attributes he so lavished upon 
his countrymen, — for they were not only, in his description, 
the boldest and the bravest, but the handsomest people of 
Europe. 

As to the success of the enterprise, whatever doubts I 
had at first conceived, from an estimate of the immense 
resources of England, were speedily solved as I read of the 
enormous preparations the Irish had made for the struggle. 
The Roman Catholics, Madgett said, were three millions, the 
Dissenters another million, — all eager for freedom and 
French alliance, wanting nothing but the appearance of a 
small armed force to give them the necessary organization 
and discipline. They were somewhat deficient, he acknow- 
ledged, in firearms, — cannon they had none whatever; but 
the character of the country, which consisted of mountains, 
valleys, ravines, and gorges, reduced war to the mere chival- 
rous features of personal encounter. What interminable 
descriptions did I wade through of clubs and associations, 
the very names of which were a puzzle to me, — the great 
union of all appearing to be a society called 44 Defenders,” 
whose oath bound them to 44 fidelity to the united nations of 
France and Ireland ! ” 

So much for the one side. For the other, it was asserted 
that the English forces then in garrison in Ireland were 
below contempt ; the militia, being principally Irish, might 
be relied on for taking the popular side ; and as to the 
Regulars, they were either 44 old men or boys,” incapable 
of active service, and several of the regiments being Scotch, 


AN OLD GENERAL OF THE IRISH BRIGADE.” 165 


greatly disaffected to the Government. Then, again, as to 
the navy, — the sailors in the English fleet were more than 
two-thirds Irishmen, all Catholics, and all disaffected. 

That the enterprise contained every element of success, 
then, who could doubt? The nation, in the proportion of 
ten to one, were for the movement. On their side lay not 
alone the wrongs to avenge, but the courage, the energy, 
and the daring. Their oppressors were as weak as tyranni- 
cal, their cause was a bad one, and their support of it a 
hollow semblance of superiority. 

If I read these statements with ardor and avidity, one 
lurking sense of doubt alone obtruded itself on my reason- 
ings. Why, with all these guarantees of victory, with every- 
thing that can hallow a cause, and give it stability and 
strength, — why did the Irish ask for aid? If they were, as 
they alleged, an immense majority; if theirs was all the 
heroism and the daring ; if the struggle was to be maintained 
against a miserably inferior force, weakened by age, incapa- 
city, and disaffection, — what need had they of Frenchmen 
on their side? The answer to all such doubts, however, was 
“ the Irish were deficient in organization.” 

Not only was the explanation a very sufficient one, but it 
served in a high degree to flatter our vanity. We were, then, 
to be organizers of Ireland ; from us were they to take the 
lessons of civilization, which should prepare them for free- 
dom ; ours was the task to discipline their valor, and train 
their untaught intelligence. Once landed in the country, it 
was to our standard they were to rally ; from us were to go 
forth the orders of every movement and measure ; to us 
this new land was to be an Eldorado. Madgett significantly 
hinted everywhere at the unbounded gratitude of Irishmen, 
and more than hinted at the future fate of certain confiscated 
estates. One phrase, ostentatiously set forth in capitals, 
asserted that the best general of the French Republic could 
not be anywhere employed with so much reputation and 
profit. There was, then, everything to stimulate the soldier 
in such an enterprise ; honor, fame, glory, and rich rewards 
were all among the prizes. 

It was when deep in the midst of these studies, poring 
over maps and reports, taxing my memory with hard names, 


166 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


and getting off by heart dates, distances, and numbers, that 
the order came for me to repair at once to Paris, where the 
volunteers of the expedition were to assemble. My rank of 
sergeant had been confirmed, and in this capacity, as sous- 
officier , I was ordered to report myself to General Kilmaine, 
the adjutant-general of t the expedition, then living in the 
Rue Chantereine. I was also given the address of a certain 
Lestaing (Rue Tarbout) a tailor, from whom, on producing 
a certificate, I was to obtain my new uniform. 

Full as I was of the whole theme, thinking of the expedi- 
tion by day and dreaming of it by night, I was still little 
prepared for the enthusiasm it was at that very moment ex- 
citing in every society of the capital. For some time previous 
a great number of Irish emigrants had made Paris their 
residence ; some were men of good position and ample for- 
tune ; some were individuals of considerable ability and 
intelligence ; all were enthusiastic and ardent in tempera- 
ment, devotedly attached to their country, hearty haters of 
England, and proportionally attached to all that was French. 
These sentiments, coupled with a certain ease of manner, 
and a faculty of adaptation so peculiarly Irish, made them 
general favorites in society ; and long before the Irish 
question had found any favor with the public, its national 
supporters had won over the hearts and good wishes of all 
Paris to the cause. 

Well pleased, then, as I was with my handsome uniform 
of green and gold, my small chapeau, with its plume of cock’s 
feathers, and the embroidered shamrock on my collar, I was 
not a little struck by the excitement my first appearance in 
the street created. Accustomed to see a hundred strange 
military costumes, — the greater number, I own, more singu- 
lar than tasteful, — the Parisians, I concluded, would scarcely 
notice mine in the crowd. Not so, however ; the print-shops 
had already given the impulse to the admiration, and the 
‘ 4 Irish Volunteer of the Guard ” was to be seen in every 
window, in all the u glory of his bravery.” The heroic 
character of the expedition, too, was typified by a great 
variety of scenes, in which the artist’s imagination had all 
the credit. In one picture the ‘ 1 jeune Irlandais ” was plant- 
ing a national flag of very capacious dimensions on the sum- 


“AN OLD GENERAL OF THE IRISH BRIGADE.” 167 

mit of his native mountains; here he was storming “ Le 
CMteau de Dublin,” a most formidable fortress, perched on 
a rock above the sea ; here he was crowning the heights of 
“ La Citadelle de Cork,” a very Gibraltar in strength; or 
he was haranguing the native chieftains, a highly picturesque 
group, — a cross between a knight crusader and a South-sea 
islander. 

My appearance, therefore, in the streets was the signal for 
general notice and admiration, and more than one compli- 
ment was uttered, purposely loud enough to reach me, on 
the elegance and style of my equipment. In the pleasant 
flurry of spirits excited by this flattery, I arrived at the 
general’s quarters in the Rue Chantereine. It was consider- 
ably before the time of his usual receptions, but the glitter 
of my epaulettes and the air of assurance I had assumed so 
far imposed upon the old servant who acted as valet that he 
at once introduced me into a small saloon, and after a brief 
pause presented me to the general, who was reclining on a 
sofa at his breakfast. Although far advanced in years, and 
evidently broken by bad health, General Kilmaine still pre- 
served traces of great personal advantages, while his manner 
exhibited all that polished ease and courtesy which was said 
to be peculiar to the Irish gentleman of the French court. 
Addressing me in English, he invited me to join his meal ; 
and on my declining, as having already breakfasted, he said, 
4 ‘ I perceive from your name we are countrymen, and as your 
uniform tells me the service in which you are engaged, we 
may speak with entire confidence. Tell me then, frankly, 
all that you know of the actual condition of Ireland.” 

Conceiving that this question applied to the result of my 
late studies, and was meant to elicit the amount of my in- 
formation, I at once began a recital of what I had learned 
from the books and reports I had been reading. My statis- 
tics were perfect, — they had been gotten off by heart ; my 
sympathies were, for the same reason, most eloquent ; my 
indignation was boundless on the wrongs I deplored, and in 
fact in the fifteen minutes during which he permitted me to 
declaim without interruption I had gone through the whole 
“ cause of Ireland,” from Henry II. to George III. 

“ You have been reading Mr. Madgett, I perceive,” said 


168 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


he, with a smile; “but I would rather hear something of 
your own actual experience. Tell me, therefore, in what 
condition are the people at this moment, as regards 
poverty ? ” 

“ I have never been in Ireland, general,” said I, not with- 
out some shame at the avowal coming so soon after my 
eloquent exhortation. 

“Ah, I perceive,” said he, blandly, “of Irish origin, and 
a relative probably of that very distinguished soldier, Count 
Maurice de Tiernay, who served in the Garde-du-Corps.” 

“His only son, general,” said I, blushing with eagerness 
and pleasure at the praise of my father. 

“Indeed!” said he, smiling courteously, and seeming to 
meditate on my words. “ There was not a better nor a braver 
sabre in the corps than your father ; a very few more of such 
men might have saved the monarchy ; as it was, they digni- 
fied its fall. And to whose guidance and care did you owe 
your early training, for I see you have not been neglected ? ” 

A few words told him the principal events of my early 
years, to which he listened with deep attention. At length 
he said, “ And now you are about to devote your acquire- 
ments and energy to this new expedition ? ” 

“All, general! Everything that I have is too little for 
such a cause.” 

“ l r ou say truly, boy,” said he, warmly; “would that so 
good a cause had better leaders ! I mean,” added he, hurriedly, 
“ wiser ones, — men more conversant with the actual state of 
events, more fit to cope with the great difficulties before 
them, more ready to take advantage of circumstances whose 
outward meaning will often prove deceptive ; in fact, Irish- 
men of character and capacity, tried soldiers and good 
patriots. Well, well, let us hope the best. In whose division 
are you ? ” 

“ I have not yet heard, sir. I have presented myself here 
to-day to receive your orders.” 

“ There again is another instance of their incapacity,” 
cried he, passionately. “Why, boy, I have no command, 
nor any function. I did accept office under General Hoche, 
but he is not to lead the present expedition.” 

“ And who is, sir?” 


“AN OLD GENERAL OF THE IRISH BRIGADE.” 169 

“ I cannot tell you. A week ago they talked of Grouchy, 
then of Hardy ; yesterday it was Humbert ; to-day it may 
be Bonaparte, and to-morrow yourself! Ay, Tiernay, this 
great and good cause has its national fatality attached to it, 
and is so wrapped up in low intrigue and falsehood that every 
minister becomes in turn disgusted with the treachery and 
mendacity he meets with, and bequeaths the question to 
some official underling, meet partisan for the mock patriot 
he treats with.” 

“But the expedition will sail, general?” asked I, sadly 
discomfited by this tone of despondency. 

He made me no answer, but sat for some time absorbed 
in his own thoughts. At last he looked up, and said, “ You 
ought to be in the army of Italy, boy ; the great teacher of 
war is there.” 

“ I know it, sir, but my whole heart is in this struggle. I 
feel that Ireland has a claim on all who derived even a name 
from her soil. Do you not believe that the expedition will 
sail? ” 

Again he was silent and thoughtful. 

“ Mr. Madgett would say yes,” said he scornfully, “ though, 
certes, he would not volunteer to bear it company.” 

“Colonel Cherin, general!” said the valet, as he flung 
open the door for a young officer in a staff uniform. I arose 
at once to withdraw, but the general motioned to me to wait 
in an adjoining room, as he desired to speak with me again. 

Scarcely five minutes had elapsed when I was summoned 
once more before him. 

“You have come at a most opportune moment, Tiernay,” 
said he; “Colonel Cherin informs me that an expedition is 
ready to sail from Rochelle at the first favorable wind. Gen- 
eral Humbert has the command ; and if you are disposed to 
join him I will give you a letter of presentation.” 

Of course I did not hesitate in accepting the offer; and 
while the general drew over his desk to write the letter, I 
withdrew towards the window to converse with Colonel 
Cherin. 

“ You might have waited long enough,” said he, laughing, 
“ if the affair had been in other hands than Humbert’s. The 
delays and discussions of the official people, the difficulty of 


170 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


anything like agreement, the want of money, and fifty other 
causes would have detained the fleet till the English got 
scent of the whole. But Humbert has taken the short road 
in the matter. He only arrived at La Rochelle five days 
ago, and now he is ready to weigh anchor.” 

“And in what way has he accomplished this?” asked I, 
in some curiosity. 

“By a method,” replied he, laughing again, “which is 
usually reserved for an enemy’s country. Growing weary of 
a correspondence with the minister, which seemed to make 
little progress, and urged on by the enthusiastic stories of 
the Irish refugees, he resolved to wait no longer ; and so he 
has called on the merchants and magistrates to advance him 
a sum on military requisition, together with such stores and 
necessaries as he stands in need of.” 

“And they have complied?” asked I. 

“ Parbleu ! that have they. In the first place, they had no 
other choice ; and in the second, they are but too happy to 
get rid of him and his 4 Legion Noir,’ as they are called, so 
cheaply. A thousand louis and a thousand muskets would 
not pay for the damage of these vagabonds each night they 
spent in the town.” 

I confess that this description did not tend to exalt the 
enthusiasm I had conceived for the expedition ; but it was 
too late for hesitation, too late for even a doubt. Go for- 
ward I should, whatever might come of it. And now the 
general had finished his letter, which, having sealed and 
addressed, he gave into my hand, saying : “ This will very 
probably obtain you promotion, if not at once, at least on 
the first vacancy. Good-by, my lad ; there may be hard 
knocks going where you will be, but I ’m certain you ’ll not 
disgrace the good name you bear, nor the true cause for which 
you are fighting. I would that I had youth and strength to 
stand beside you in the struggle ! Good-by.” 

He shook me affectionately by both hands ; the colonel, 
too, bade me adieu not less cordially ; and I took my leave 
with a heart overflowing with gratitude and delight. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


LA ROCHELLE. 

La Rochelle is a quiet little town at the bottom of a small 
bay, the mouth of which is almost closed up by two islands. 
There is a sleepy, peaceful air about the place ; a sort of 
drowsy languor pervades everything and everybody about it, 
that tells of a town whose days of busy prosperity have long 
since passed by, and which is dragging out life like some 
retired tradesman, — too poor for splendor, but rich enough 
to be idle. A long avenue of lime-trees incloses the harbor ; 
and here the merchants conduct their bargains, while their 
wives, seated beneath the shade, discuss the gossip of the 
place over their work. All is patriarchal and primitive as 
Holland itself, the very courtesies of life exhibiting that 
ponderous stateliness which insensibly reminds one of the 
land of dykes and broad breeches. It is the least “ French” 
of any town I have ever seen in France ; none of that light 
merriment, that gay volatility of voice and air, which form 
the usual atmosphere of a French town. All is still, orderly, 
and sombre; and yet on the night in which — something 
more than fifty years back — I first entered it, a very differ- 
ent scene was presented to my eyes. 

It was about ten o’clock, and by a moon nearly full, that 
the diligence rattled along the covered ways of the old for- 
tress, and crossing many a moat and drawbridge, the scenes 
of a once glorious struggle, entered the narrow streets, trav- 
ersed a wide place, and drew up within the ample portals of 
La Poste. 

Before I could remove the wide capote which I wore, the 
waiter ushered me into a large salon where a party of about 
forty persons were seated at supper. With a few exceptions 


172 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


they were all military officers, and sous-officiers of the expe- 
dition, whose noisy gayety and boisterous mirth sufficiently 
attested that the entertainment had begun a considerable 
time before. 

A profusion of bottles, some empty, others in the way to 
become so, covered the table, amidst which lay the fragments 
of a common table-d’hote supper, — large dishes of cigars 
and basins of tobacco figuring beside the omelettes and the 
salad. 

The noise, the crash, the heat, the smoke, and the con- 
fusion — the clinking of glasses, the singing, and the speech- 
making — made a scene of such turmoil and uproar that I 
would gladly have retired to some quieter atmosphere, when 
suddenly an accidental glimpse of my uniform caught some 
eyes among the revellers, and a shout was raised of 44 Halloa, 
comrades ! here ’s one of the 4 Guides ’ among us ! ” and at 
once the whole assembly rose up to greet me. For full 
ten minutes I had to submit to a series of salutations, which 
led to every form, from hand-shaking and embracing to 
kissing ; while, perfectly unconscious of any cause for my 
popularity, I went through the ceremonies like one in a 
dream. 

44 Where ’s Kilmaine ? ” 44 What of Hardy ? ” “Is Grouchy 
coming?” 44 Can the Brest fleet sail?” 44 How many line-of- 
battle ships have they ? ” 44 What ’s the artillery force ? ” 
44 Have you brought any money?” This last question, the 
most frequent of all, was suddenly poured in upon me, and 
with so fortunate a degree of rapidity that I had no time for a 
reply, had I even the means of making one. 

44 Let the lad have a seat and a glass of wine before he sub- 
mits to this interrogatory,” said a fine, jolly-looking old 
chef-d’ escadron at the head of the table, while he made a place 
for me at his side. 44 Now tell us, boy, what number of the 
4 Guides ’ are to be of our party ? ” 

I looked a little blank at the question, for in truth I had 
not heard of the corps before, nor was I aware that it was 
their uniform I was then wearing. 

44 Come, come, be frank with us, lad,” said he ; 44 we are all 
comrades here. Confound secrecy, say I ! ” 

44 Ay, ay,” cried the whole assembly together, 44 confound 


LA ROCHELLE. 


173 


secrecy ! We are not bandits nor highwaymen ; we have no 
need of concealment.” 

“I’ll be as frank as yon can wish, comrades,” said I; 
“ and if I lose some importance in your eyes by owning that 
I am not the master of a single state secret, I prefer to tell 
you so, to attempting any unworthy disguise. I come here, 
by orders from General Kilmaine, to join your expedition ; 
and except this letter for General Humbert, I have no 
claim to any consideration whatever.” 

The old chef took the letter from my hands and ex- 
amined the seal and superscription carefully, and then 
passed the document down the table for the satisfaction of 
the rest. 

While I continued to watch with anxious eyes the letter 
on which so much of my own fate depended, a low whisper- 
ing conversation went on at my side, at the end of which the 
clief said, — 

“It’s more than likely, lad, that your regiment is not 
coming ; but our general is not to be balked for that. Go 
he will ; and let the Government look to themselves if he is 
not supported! At all events you had better see General 
Humbert at once ; there ’s no saying what that despatch may 
contain. Santerre, conduct him upstairs.” 

A smart young fellow arose at the bidding, and beckoned 
me to follow him. 

It was not without difficulty that we forced our way up- 
stairs, down which porters and sailors and soldiers were 
now carrying a number of heavy trunks and packing-cases. 
At last we gained an anteroom, where confusion seemed at 
its highest, crowded as it was by soldiers, the greater 
number of them intoxicated, and all in a state of riotous 
and insolent insubordination. Amongst these were a 
number of the townspeople, eager to prefer complaints for 
outrage and robbery, but whose subdued voices were drowned 
amid the clamor of their oppressors. Meanwhile, clerks 
were writing away receipts for stolen and pillaged articles, 
and which, signed with the name of the general, were 
grasped at with eager avidity. Even personal injuries 
were requited in the same cheap fashion, orders on the 
national treasury being freely issued for damaged noses 


174 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


and smashed heads, and gratefully received by the confiding 
populace. 

u If the wind draws a little more to the southward before 
morning, we ’ll pay our debts with the top-sail sheet ; and it 
will be somewhat shorter, and to the full as honest,” said a 
man in a naval uniform. 

‘ ‘ Where ’s the officer of the ‘ Regiment des Guides ’ ? ” 
cried a soldier from the door at the farther end of the 
room ; and before I had time to think over the designation 
of rank given me, I was hurried into the general’s 
presence. 

General Humbert, whose age might have been thirty-eight 
or forty, was a tall, well-built, but somewhat over-corpulent 
man ; his features frank and manly, but with a dash of 
coarseness in their expression, particularly about the mouth ; 
a sabre-cut, which had divided the upper lip, and whose 
cicatrix was then seen through his mustache, heightening 
the effect of his sinister look. His carriage was singularly 
erect and soldier-like, but all his gestures betrayed the habits 
of one who had risen from the ranks, and was not unwilling 
to revive the recollection. 

He was parading the room from end to end when I en- 
tered, stopping occasionally to look out from an open window 
upon the bay, where by the clear moonlight might be seen 
the ships of the fleet at anchor. Two officers of his staff 
were writing busily at a table, whence the materials of a 
supper had not yet been removed. They did not look up as 
I came forward, nor did he notice me in any way for several 
minutes. Suddenly he turned towards me, and snatching 
the letter I held in my hand, proceeded to read it. A 
burst of coarse laughter broke from him as he perused the 
lines ; and then throwing down the paper on the table, he 
cried out, — 

“ So much for Kilmaine’s contingent ! I asked for a com- 
pany of engineers and a squadron of 4 Guides,’ and they 
send me a boy from the cavalry-school of Saumur. I tell them 
that I want some fellows conversant with the language and 
the people, able to treat with the peasantry, and acquainted 
with their habits, and here I have got a raw youth whose 
highest acquirements in all likelihood is to daub a map 


LA ROCHELLE. 


175 


with water-colors, or take fortifications with a pair of com- 
passes ! I wish I had some of these learned gentlemen in the 
trenches for a few hours. Parbleu! I think I could teach 
them something they don’t learn from Citizen Carnot. 
Well, sir,” said he, turning abruptly towards me, “how 
many squadrons of the 4 Guides ’ are completed ? ” 

“ I cannot tell, General,” was my timid answer. 

“ Where are they stationed? ” 

“ Of that also I am ignorant, sir.” 

44 JPeste!” cried he, stamping his foot, passionately; then 
suddenly checking his anger, he asked, 44 How many are 
coming to join this expedition? Is there a regiment, a 
division, a troop? Can you tell me with certainty that a 
sergeant’s-guard is on the way hither?” 

44 I cannot, sir; I know nothing whatever about the regi- 
ment in question.” 

“ You have never seen it? ” cried he, vehemently. 

“ Never, sir.” 

44 This exceeds all belief,” exclaimed he, with a crash of his 
closed fist upon the table. “Three weeks’ le tter- writing ! 
Estafettes, orderlies, and special couriers to no end ! And 
here we have an unfledged cur from a cavalry institute, when 
I asked for a strong reinforcement. Then what brought you 
here, boy?” 

44 To join your expedition, General.” 

“ Have they told you it was a holiday-party that we 
had planned? Did they say it was a junketting we were 
bent upon? ” 

44 If they had, sir, I would not have come.” 

“The greater fool you, then, that’s all,” cried he, laugh- 
ing; 44 when I was your age I’d not have hesitated twice 
between a merry-making and a bayonet-charge.” 

While he was thus speaking, he never ceased to sign his 
name to every paper placed before him by one or other of 
the secretaries. 

44 No, parbleu f” he went on, 44 La maitresse before the 
mitraille any day for me. But what’s all this, Girard? 
Here I’m issuing orders upon the national treasury for 
hundreds of thousands without let or compunction.” 

The aide-de-camp whispered a word or two in a low tone. 


176 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ I know it, lad ; I know it well,” said the general, laugh- 
ing heartily ; “I only pray that all our requisitions may be 
as easily obtained in future. Well, Monsieur le Guide, what 
are we to do with you ? ” 

“ Not refuse me, I hope, General,” said I, diffidently. 

“Not refuse you, certainly ; but in what capacity to take 
you, lad, that’s the question. If you had served — if you 
had even walked a campaign — ” 

“So I have, General, — this will show you where I have 
been ; ” and I handed him the livret which every soldier 
carries of his conduct and career. 

He took the book, and casting his eyes hastily over it, 
exclaimed, — 

‘ ‘ Why, what ’s this, lad ? You ’ve been at Kehl, at Emmen- 
dingen, at Rorsbach, at Huyningen, through all that Black 
Forest affair with Moreau! You have seen smoke, then. 
Ay ! I see honorable mention of you besides, for readiness 
in the field and zeal during action. What! more brandy, 
Girard ? Why our Irish friends must have been exceedingly 
thirsty. I ’ve given them credit for something like ten thou- 
sand ‘ velts ’ already ! No matter, the poor fellows may have 
to put up with short rations for all this yet, and there goes 
my signature once more. What does that blue light mean, 
Girard ? ” said he, pointing to a bright blue star that shone 
from a mast of one of the ships of war. 

“ That is the signal, General, that the embarkation of the 
artillery is complete.” 

“ Parbleu! ” said he with a laugh, “it need not have 
taken long ; they ’ve given in two batteries of eights, and 
one of them has not a gun fit for service. There goes a 
rocket, now. Isn’t that the signal to heave short on the 
anchors? Yes, to be sure; and now it is answered by the 
other ! Ha ! lads, this does look like business at last ! ” 

The door opened as he spoke, and a naval officer entered. 

“The wind is drawing round to the south, General; we 
can weigh with the ebb if you wish it.” 

“Wish it! if I wish it! Yes, with my whole heart and 
soul I do ! I am just as sick of La Rochelle as is La Rochelle 
of me. The salute that announces our departure will be a 
feu-de-joie to both of us ! Ay, sir, tell your captain that I 


LA ROCHELLE. 


177 


need no further notice than that he is ready. Girard, see to 
it that the marauders are sent on board in irons. The 
fellows must learn at once that discipline begins when we 
trip our anchors. As for you,” said he, turning to me, “ you 
shall act upon my staff with provisional rank as sous-lieu- 
tenant: time will show if the grade should be confirmed. 
And now hasten down to the quay, and put yourself under 
Colonel Serasin’s orders.” 

Colonel Serasin, the second in command, was, in many 
respects, the very opposite of Humbert. Sharp, petulant, 
and irascible, he seemed quite to overlook the fact that in an 
expedition which was little better than a foray there must 
necessarily be a great relaxation of the rules of discipline, 
and many irregularities at least winked at which in stricter 
seasons would call for punishment. The consequence was 
that a large proportion of our force went on board under 
arrest, and many actually in irons. The Irish were, without 
a single exception, all drunk ; and the English soldiers, 
who had procured their liberation from imprisonment on 
condition of joining the expedition, had made sufficiently 
free with the brandy-bottle to forget their new alliance, and 
vent their hatred of France and Frenchmen in expres- 
sions whose only alleviation was that they were nearly 
unintelligible. 

Such a scene of uproar, discord, and insubordination never 
was seen ! The relative conditions of guard and prisoner 
elicited national animosities that were scarcely even dormant, 
and many a bloody encounter took place between those whose 
instinct was too powerful to feel themselves anything but 
enemies. A cry, too, was raised that it was meant to betray 
the whole expedition to the English, whose fleet, it was as- 
serted, had been seen off Oleron that morning ; and although 
there was not even the shadow of a foundation for the belief, 
it served to increase the alarm and confusion. Whether 
originating or not with the Irish, I cannot say, but certainly 
they took advantage of it to avoid embarking ; and now 
began a schism which threatened to wreck the whole expedi- 
tion, even in the harbor. 

The Irish, as indifferent to the call of discipline as they 
were ignorant of French, refused to obey orders save from 


178 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


officers of their own country ; and although Serasin ordered 
two companies to “load with hall and fire low,” the similar 
note for preparation from the insurgents induced him to 
rescind the command and try a compromise. In this crisis 
I was sent by Serasin to fetch what was called the “ Com- 
mittee,” the three Irish deputies who accompanied the force. 
They had already gone aboard of the “ Dedalus,” little fore- 
seeing the difficulties that were to arise on shore. 

Seated in a small cabin next the wardroom I found these 
three gentlemen, whose names were Tone, Teeling, and 
Sullivan. Their attitudes were gloomy and despondent, and 
their looks anything but encouraging as I entered. A paper 
on which a few words had been scrawled, and signed with 
their three names underneath, lay before them, and on this 
their eyes were bent with a sad and deep meaning. I knew 
not then what it meant ; but I afterwards learned that it was 
a compact formerly entered into and drawn up, that if by the 
chance of war they should fall into the enemy’s hands, they 
would anticipate then* fate by suicide, but leave to the Eng- 
lish government all the ignominy and disgrace of their death. 

They seemed scarcely to notice me as I came forward, and 
even when I delivered my message they heard it with a half 
indifference. 

“What do you want us to do, sir?” said Teeling, the 
eldest of the party. “We hold no command in the service. 
It was against our advice and counsel that you accepted 
these volunteers at all. We have no influence over them.” 

“Not the slightest,” broke in Tone. “ These fellows are 
bad soldiers and worse Irishmen. The expedition will do 
better without them.” 

“And they better without the expedition,” muttered 
Sullivan, dryly. 

“ But you will come, gentlemen, and speak to them,” said 
I. “ You can at least assure them that their suspicions are 
unfounded.” 

“Very true, sir,” replied Sullivan, “we can do so; but 
with what success? No, no! If you can’t maintain dis- 
cipline here on your own soil, you’ll make a bad hand of 
doing it when you have your foot on Irish ground. And, 
after all, I for one am not surprised at the report gaining 
credence.” 


LA ROCHELLE. 


179 


44 How so, sir?” asked I, indignantly. 

4 4 Simply that when a promise of fifteen thousand men 
dwindles down to a force of eight hundred ; when a hundred 
thousand stand of arms come to be represented by a couple 
of thousand ; when an expedition, pledged by a government, 
has fallen down to a marauding party; when Hoche or 
Kleber — But never mind ; I always swore that if you sent 
but a corporal’s guard that I ’d go with them.” 

A musket shot here was heard, followed by a sharp volley 
and a cheer, and in an agony of anxiety I rushed to the 
deck. Although above half a mile from the shore, we could 
see the movement of troops hither and thither, and hear the 
loud words of command. Whatever the struggle, it was 
over in a moment, and now we saw the troops descending 
the steps to the boats. With an inconceivable speed the 
men fell into their places, and, urged on by the long sweeps, 
the heavy launches swept across the calm water of the bay. 

If a cautious reserve prevented any open questioning as 
to the late affray, the second boat which came alongside 
revealed some of its terrible consequences. Seven wounded 
soldiers were assisted up the side by their comrades, and in 
total silence conveyed to their station between decks. 

44 A bad augury this ! ” muttered Sullivan, as his eye fol- 
lowed them. 44 They might as well have left that work for 
the English ! ” 

A swift six-oar boat, with the tricolor flag floating from a 
flag-staff at her stern, now skimmed along toward us ; and 
as she came nearer we could recognize the uniforms of the 
officers of Humbert’s staff, while the burly figure of the gen- 
eral himself was soon distinguishable in the midst of them. 

As he stepped up the ladder, not a trace of displeasure 
could be seen on his broad bold features. Greeting the 
assembled officers with a smile, he asked how the wind was. 

44 All fair, and freshening at every moment,” was the 
answer. 

4 4 May it continue!” cried he, fervently. 44 Welcome a 
hurricane, if it only waft us westward ! ” 

The foresail filled out as he spoke, the heavy ship heaved 
over to the wind, and we began our voyage. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


“ THE BAY OF RATHFRAN.” 

Our voyage was very uneventful, but not without anxiety ; 
since, to avoid the English cruisers and the Channel fleet, 
we were obliged to hold a southerly course for several days, 
making a great circuit before we could venture to bear up 
for the place of our destination. The weather alternated 
between light winds and a dead calm, which usually came 
on every day at noon, and lasted till about sunset. As to 
me, there was an unceasing novelty in everything about a 
ship ; her mechanism, her discipline, her progress, furnished 
abundant occupation for all my thoughts, and I never 
wearied of acquiring knowledge of a theme so deeply inter- 
esting. My intercourse with the naval officers, too, im- 
pressed me strongly in their favor in comparison with their 
comrades of the land service. In the former case, all was 
zeal, activity, and watchfulness. The look-out never slum- 
bered at his post; and an unceasing anxiety to promote the 
success of the expedition manifested itself in all their words 
and actions. This, of course, was all to be expected in the 
discharge of the duties peculiarly their own; but I also 
looked for something which should denote preparation and 
forethought in the others, yet nothing of the kind was to be 
seen. The expedition was never discussed even as table- 
talk ; and for anything that fell from the party in conversa- 
tion, it would have been impossible to say if our destination 
were China or Ireland. Not a book nor a map, not a pam- 
phlet nor a paper that bore upon the country whose destinies 
were about to be committed to us, ever appeared on the 
tables. A vague and listless doubt how long the voyage 
might last was the extent of interest any one condescended 
to exhibit; but as to what was to follow after, what new 


“THE BAY OF RATHFRAN.’ 


181 


chapter of events should open when this first had closed, 
none vouchsafed to inquire. 

Even to this hour I am puzzled whether to attribute this 
strange conduct to the careless levity of national character, 
or to a studied and well “got up” affectation. In all 
probability both influences were at work ; while a third not 
less powerful, assisted them : this was the gross ignorance 
and shameless falsehood of some of the Irish leaders of the 
expedition, whose boastful and absurd histories ended by 
disgusting every one. Among the projects discussed at the 
time, I well remember one which was often gravely talked 
over, and the utter absurdity of which certainly struck none 
amongst us. This was no less than the intention of demand- 
ing the West India Islands from England as an indemnity 
for the past woes and bygone misgovernment of Ireland. 
If this seem barely credible now, I can only repeat my faith- 
ful assurance of the fact; and I believe that some of the 
memoirs of the time will confirm my assertion. 

The French officers listened to these and similar specula- 
tions with utter indifference ; probably to many of them the 
geographical question was a difficulty that stopped any 
further inquiry, while others. felt no further interest than 
what a campaign promised. All the enthusiastic narratives, 
then, of high rewards and splendid trophies that awaited us 
fell upon inattentive ears, and at last the word Ireland 
ceased to be heard amongst us. Play of various kinds 
occupied us when not engaged on duty. There was little 
discipline maintained on board, and none of that strictness 
which is the habitual rule of a ship-of-war. The lights were 
suffered to burn during the greater part of the night in the 
cabins ; gambling went on usually till daybreak ; and the. 
quarter-deck, that most reverential of spots to every sailor- 
mind, was often covered by lounging groups, who smoked, 
chatted, or played at chess, in all the cool apathy of men 
indifferent to its claim for respect. 

Now and then, the appearance of a strange sail afar off, 
or some dim object in the horizon, would create a momen- 
tary degree of excitement and anxiety ; but when the “ look- 
out” from the mast-head had proclaimed her a “schooner 
from Brest” ora “Spanish fruit- vessel,” the sense of 


182 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


danger passed away at once, and none ever reverted to the 
subject. 

With General Humbert I usually passed the greater part 
of each forenoon, — a distinction, I must confess, I owed to 
my skill as a chess-player, a game of which he was par- 
ticularly fond, and in which I had attained no small pro- 
ficiency. I was too young and too unpractised in the world 
to make my skill subordinate to my chiefs, and beat him at 
every game with as little compunction as though he were 
only my equal ; till at last, vexed at his want of success, and 
tired of a contest that offered no vicissitude of fortune, he 
would frequently cease playing to chat over the events of 
the time and the chances of the expedition. 

It was with no slight mixture of surprise and dismay 
that I now detected his utter despair of all success, and 
that he regarded the whole as a complete forlorn-hope. He 
had merely taken the command to involve the French 
government in the cause, and so far compromise the national 
character that all retreat would be impossible. “We shall 
be all cut to pieces or taken prisoners the day after we 
land,” was his constant exclamation; “and then, but not 
till then, will they think seriously in France of a suitable 
expedition.” There was no heroism, still less was there any 
affectation of recklessness, in this avowal. By nature he 
was a rough, easy, good-tempered fellow, who liked his 
profession less for its rewards than for its changeful scenes 
and moving incidents, — his one predominating feeling being 
that France should give rule to the whole world, and the 
principles of her Revolution be everywhere pre-eminent. To 
promote this consummation the loss of an army was of little 
moment. Let the cause but triumph in the end, and the 
cost was not worth fretting about. 

Next to this sentiment was his hatred of England and all 
that was English. Treachery, falsehood, pride, avarice, 
grasping covetousness, and unscrupulous aggression were 
the characteristics by which he described the nation ; and he 
made the little knowledge he had gleaned from newspapers 
and intercourse so subservient to this theory, that I was an 
easy convert to his opinion ; so that, ere long, my compas- 
sion for the wrongs of Ireland was associated with the most 
profound hatred of her oppressors. 


THE BAY OF RATHFRAN. J 


183 


To be sure, I should have liked the notion that we our- 
selves were to have some more active share in the liberation 
of Irishmen than the mere act of heralding another and 
more successful expedition ; but even in this thought there 
was romantic self-devotion, not unpleasing to the mind of 
a boy ; but, strange enough, I was the only one who felt 
it. 

The first sight of land to one on sea is always an event of 
uncommon interest ; but how greatly increased is the feeling 
when that land is to be the scene of a perilous exploit, — the 
cradle of his ambition, or perhaps his grave! All my 
speculations about the expedition, all my day-dreams of 
success or my anxious hours of dark forebodings, never 
brought the matter so palpably before me as the dim outline 
of a distant headland, which, I was told, was part of the 
Irish coast. 

This was on the 8th of August, but on the following day 
we stood farther out to sea again, and saw no more of it. 
The three succeeding ones we continued to beat up slowly 
to the northward against a head wind and a heavy sea ; but 
on the evening of the 21st the sun went down in mel- 
low splendor, and a light air from the south springing 
up, the sailors pronounced a most favorable change of 
weather, — a prophecy that a starry night and a calm sea 
soon confirmed. 

The morning of the 2 2d broke splendidly ; a gentle breeze 
from the southwest slightly curled the blue waves, and filled 
the canvas of the three frigates, as in close order they sailed 
along under the tall cliffs of Ireland. We were about three 
miles from the shore, on which now every telescope and glass 
was eagerly directed. As the light and fleeting clouds of 
early morning passed away we could descry the outlines of 
the bold coast, indented with many a bay and creek, while 
rocky promontories and grassy slopes succeeded each other 
in endless variety of contrast. Towns, or even villages, we 
could see none ; a few small wretched-looking hovels were 
dotted over the hills, and here and there a thin wreath of 
blue smoke bespoke habitation, but save these signs there 
was an air of loneliness and solitude which increased the 
solemn feelings of the scene. 


184 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


All these objects of interest, however, soon gave way 
before another, to the contemplation of which every eye was 
turned. This was a small fishing-boat, which, with a low 
mast and ragged piece of canvas, was seen standing boldly 
out for us ; a red handkerchief was fastened to a stick in the 
stern, as if for a signal ; and on our shortening sail, to admit 
of her overtaking us, the ensign was lowered as though in 
acknowledgment of our meaning. 

The boat was soon alongside ; and we now perceived that 
her crew consisted of a man and a boy, the former of whom, 
a powerfully-built, loose fellow of about five and forty, 
dressed in a light-blue frieze jacket and trousers, adroitly 
caught at the cast of rope thrown out to him, and having 
made fast his skiff, clambered up the ship’s side at once, 
gayly, as though he were an old friend coming to welcome us. 

44 Is he a pilot? ” asked the officer of the watch, address- 
ing one of the Irish officers. 

44 No; he’s only a fisherman, but he knows the coast per- 
fectly, and says there is deep water within twenty fathoms 
of the shore.” 

An animated conversation in Irish now ensued between 
the peasant and Captain Madgett, during which a wondering 
and somewhat impatient group stood around, speedily in- 
creased by the presence of General Humbert himself and his 
staff. 

4 4 He tells me, General,” said Madgett, 44 that we are in 
the Bay of Killala, — a good and safe anchorage, and, during 
the southerly winds, the best on all the coast.” 

“What news has he from the shore?” asked Humbert, 
sharply, as if the care of the ship was a very secondary 
consideration. 

“They have been expecting us with the greatest impa- 
tience, General ; he says the most intense anxiety for our 
coming is abroad.” 

44 What of the people themselves? Where are the national 
forces? Have they any headquarters near this? Eh, what 
says he? What is that? Why does he laugh?” asked 
Humbert, in impatient rapidity, as he watched the changes 
in the peasant’s face. 

44 He was laughing at the strange sound of a foreign lan- 


“THE BAY OF RATHFRAN/ 


185 


guage, so odd and singular to his ears,” said Madge tt ; but 
for all his readiness, a slight flushing of the cheek showed 
that he was ill at ease. 

44 Well, but what of the Irish forces? Where are they? ” 

For some minutes the dialogue continued in an animated 
strain between the two, — the vehement tone and gestures of 
each bespeaking what sounded at least like altercation ; and 
Madgett at last turned half angrily away, saying, 44 The 
fellow is too ignorant ; he actually knows nothing of what is 
passing before his eyes.” 

44 Is there no one else on board can speak this baragouin- 
age ? ” cried Humbert, in anger. 

44 Yes, General, I can interrogate him,” cried a young lad 
named Conolly, who had only joined us on the day before we 
sailed. 

And now as the youth addressed the fisherman in a few 
rapid sentences, the other answered as quickly, making a 
gesture with his hands that implied grief or even despair. 

44 We can interpret that for ourselves,” broke in Humbert; 
44 he is telling you that the game is up.” 

44 Exactly so, General; he says that the insurrection has 
been completely put down, that the Irish forces are scattered 
or disbanded, and all the leaders taken.” 

44 The fellow is just as likely to be an English spy,” said 
Madgett, in a whisper ; but Humbert’s gesture of impatience 
showed how little trust he reposed in the allegation. 

44 Ask him what English troops are quartered in this part 
of the country,” said the general. 

44 A few militia, and two squadrons of dragoons,” was the 
prompt reply. 

44 No artillery? ” 

44 None. ” 

44 Is there any rumor of our coming abroad, or have the 
frigates been seen?” asked Humbert. 

4 4 They were seen last night from the church steeple of 
Killala, General,” said Conolly, translating, 4 4 but believed 
to be English.” 

44 Come, that is the best news he has brought us yet,” 
said Humbert, laughing; 44 we shall at least surprise them a 
little. Ask him what men of rank or consequence live 


186 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


in the neighborhood, and how are they affected towards the 
expedition ? ” 

A few words and a low dry laugh made all the peasant’s 
reply. 

“ Eh, what says he? ” asked Humbert. 

“He says, sir, that, except a Protestant bishop, there’s 
nothing of the rank of gentry hefe.” 

“ I suppose we need scarcely expect his blessing on our 
efforts,” said Humbert, with a hearty laugh. “What is he 
saying now, — what is he looking at ? ” 

“ He says that we are now in the very best anchorage of 
the bay,” said Conolly, “ and that on the whole coast there ’s 
not a safer spot.” 

A brief consultation now took place between the general 
and naval officers, and in a few seconds the word was given 
to take in all sail and anchor. 

“ I wish I could speak to that honest fellow myself,” said 
Humbert, as he stood watching the fisherman, who with a 
peasant curiosity had now approached the mast, and was 
passing his fingers across the blades of the cutlasses as they 
stood in the sword-rack. 

‘ ‘ Sharp enough for the English, eh ? ” cried Humbert, in 
French, but with a gesture that seemed at once intelligible. 
A dry nod of the head gave assent to the remark. 

“ If I understand him aright,” said Humbert, in a half 
whisper to Conolly, ‘ 4 we are as little expected by our friends 
as by our enemies ; and that there is little or no force in arms 
among the Irish.” 

“ There are plenty ready to fight, he says, sir, but none 
accustomed to discipline.” 

A gesture, half contemptuous, was all Humbert’s reply, 
and he now turned away and walked the deck alone and in 
silence. Meanwhile the bustle and movements of the crew 
continued, and soon the great ships, their sails all coiled, lay 
tranquilly at anchor in a sea without a ripple. 

“ A boat is coming out from the shore, General,” whispered 
the lieutenant on duty. 

“ Ask the fisherman if he knows it.” 

Conolly drew the peasant’s attention to the object, and the 
man after looking steadily for a few seconds became terribly 
agitated. 


THE BAY OF RATHFRAN. 


18 T 


“What is it man, — can’t you tell who it is?” asked 
Conolly. 

But although so composed before, so ready with all his 
replies, he seemed now totally unmanned, his frank and 
easy features being struck with the signs of palpable terror. 
At last, and with an effort that bespoke all his fears, he 
muttered, — 

“ ’T is the king’s boat is coming, and ’t is the Collector ’s 
on board of her ! ” 

“Is that all?” cried Conolly, laughing, as he translated 
the reply to the general. 

“Won’t you say that I’m a prisoner, sir; won’t you tell 
them that you 4 took’ me?” said the fisherman, in an accent 
of fervent entreaty, for already his mind anticipated the 
casualty of a failure, and what might betide him afterwards. 
But no one now had any care for him or his fortunes ; all 
was in preparation to conceal the national character of the 
ships. The marines were ordered below, and all others 
whose uniforms might betray their country, while the English 
colors floated from every mast-head. 

General Humbert, with Serasin and two others, remained 
on the poop-deck, where they continued to walk, appar- 
ently devoid of any peculiar interest or anxiety in the 
scene. Madgett alone betrayed agitation at this moment; 
his pale face was paler than ever, and there seemed to me a 
kind of studious care in the way he covered himself up with 
his cloak, so that not a vestige of his uniform could be 
seen. 

The boat now came close under our lee, and Conolly being 
ordered to challenge her in English, the Collector, standing 
up in the stern, touched his hat, and announced his rank. 
The gangway-ladder was immediately lowered, and three 
gentlemen ascended the ship’s side and walked aft to the 
poop. I was standing near the bulwark at the time, watch- 
ing the scene with intense interest. As General Humbert 
stood a little in advance of the rest, the Collector, probably 
taking him for the captain, addressed him with some cour- 
teous expressions of welcome, and was proceeding to speak 
of the weather, when the general gently stopped him by 
asking if he spoke French. 


188 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


I shall never forget the terror of face that question evoked. 
At first, looking at his two companions, the Collector turned 
his eyes to the gaff, where the English flag was fly- 
ing; but still unable to utter a word, he stood like one 
entranced. 

44 You have been asked if you can speak French, sir,” said 
Conolly, at a sign from the general. 

“No — very little — very badly — not at all ; but is n’t this 
— am I not on board of — ” 

“Can none of them speak French?” said Humbert, 
shortly. 

“ Yes, sir,” said a young man on the Collector’s right ; “ I 
can make myself intelligible in that language, although no 
great proficient.” 

“Who are you, monsieur, — are you a civilian?” asked 
Humbert. 

“ l"es, sir. I am the son of the Bishop of Killala, and this 
young gentleman is my brother.” 

“ What is the amount of the force in this neighborhood?” 

“You will pardon me, sir,” said the youth, “if I ask, 
first, who it is puts this question, and under what circum- 
stances I am expected to answer it ? ” 

“All frank and open, sir,” said Humbert, good-humor- 
edly. “I’m the General Humbert, commanding the army 
for the liberation of Ireland, — so much for your first ques- 
tion. As to your second one, I believe that if you have 
any concern for yourself or those belonging to you, you will 
find that nothing will serve your interest so much as truth 
and plain dealing.” 

“ Fortunately, then, for me,” said the youth, laughing, “ I 
cannot betray my king’s cause ; for I know nothing, nothing 
whatever, about the movement of troops. I seldom go ten 
miles from home, and have not been even at Ballina since 
last winter.” 

“ Why so cautious about your information, then, sir,” 
broke in Serasin, roughly, 4 4 since you have none to give ? ” 

“Because I had some to receive, sir, and was curious to 
know where I was standing,” said the young man, boldly. 

While these few sentences were being interchanged, 
Madgett had learned from the Collector, that, except a 


THE BAY OF RATHFRAN. J 


189 


few companies of militia and fencibles, the country was 
totally unprovided with troops ; but he also picked up that 
the people were so crest-fallen and subdued in courage from 
the late failure of the rebellion, that it was very doubtful 
whether our coming w'ould arouse them to another effort. 
This information, particularly the latter part of it, Madgett 
imparted to Humbert at once ; and I thought by his manner, 
and the eagerness with which he spoke, that he seemed to use 
all his powers to dissuade the general from a landing; at 
least I overheard him more than once say, — 

“ Had we been further north, sir — ” 

Humbert quickly stopped him by the words, “ And what 
prevents us when we have landed, sir, in extending our line 
north’ard? The winds cannot surely master us, when we 
have our feet on the sward. Enough of all this; let these 
gentlemen be placed in security, and none have access to 
them without my orders. Make signal for the commanding 
officers to come on board here. We ’ve had too much of 
speculation ; a little action now will be more profitable.” 

“ So, we are prisoners, it seems ! ” said the young man who 
spoke French, as he moved away with the others, who, far 
more depressed in spirit, hung their heads in silence, as they 
descended between decks. 

Scarcely was the signal for a council of war seen from 
the mast-head, when the different boats might be descried 
stretching across the bay with speed; and now all were 
assembled in General Humbert’s cabin whose rank and 
station in the service entitled them to the honor of being 
consulted. 

To such of us as held inferior “grade” the time passed 
tediously enough as we paced the deck, now turning from 
the aspect of the silent and seemingly uninhabited cliffs along 
shore to listen if no sign betokened the breaking up of the 
council ; nor were we without serious fears that the expedi- 
tion would be abandoned altogether. This suspicion origi- 
nated with some of the Irish themselves, who, however 
confident of success and boastful of their country’s resources 
before we sailed, now made no scruple of averring that every- 
thing was the exact reverse of what they had stated ; for that 
the people were dispirited, the national forces disbanded, 


190 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


neither arms, money, nor organization anywhere, — -in fact, 
that a more hopeless scheme could not be thought of than the 
attempt, and that its result could not fail to be defeat and 
ruin to all concerned. 

Shall I own that the bleak and lonely aspect of the hills 
along shore, the dreary character of the landscape, the almost 
death-like stillness of the scene, aided these gloomy impres- 
sions, and made it seem as if we were about to try our 
fortune on some desolate spot, without one look of encour- 
agement or one word of welcome to greet us? The sight of 
even an enemy’s force would have been a relief to this soli- 
tude, the stir and movement of a rival army would have 
given spirit to our daring and nerved our courage ; but 
there was something inexpressibly sad in this unbroken 
monotony. 

A few tried to jest upon the idea of liberating a land that 
had no inhabitants, the emancipation of a country without 
people ; but even French flippancy failed to be witty on a 
theme so linked with all our hopes and fears, and at last a 
dreary silence fell upon all, and we walked the deck without 
speaking, waiting and watching for the result of that delib- 
eration which already had lasted above four mortal hours. 

Twice was the young man who spoke French summoned to 
the cabin, but, from the briefness of his stay, apparently with 
little profit ; and now the day began to wane, and the tall 
cliffs threw their lengthened shadows over the still waters of 
the bay, and yet nothing was resolved on. To the quiet and 
respectful silence of expectation now succeeded a low and 
half-subdued muttering of discontent ; groups of five or six 
together were seen along the deck, talking with eagerness 
and animation, and it was easy to see that whatever prudential 
or cautious reasons dictated to the leaders, their arguments 
found little sympathy with the soldiers of the expedition. I 
almost began to fear that if a determination to abandon the 
exploit were come to, a mutiny might break out, when my 
attention was drawn off by an order to accompany Colonel 
Charost on shore to u reconnoitre.” This at least looked like 
business, and I jumped into the small boat with alacrity. 

With the speed of four oars stoutly plied, we skimmed 
along the calm surface, and soon saw ourselves close in to 


THE BAY OE RATHFRAN.' 


191 


the shore. Some little time was spent in looking for a good 
place to land, for although not the slightest ah’ of wind was 
blowing, the long swell of the Atlantic broke upon the rocks 
with a noise like thunder. At last we shot into a little creek 
with a shelving gravelly beach, and completely concealed by 
the tall rocks on every side ; and now we sprang out, and 
stood upon Irish ground ! 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A “RECONNAISSANCE.” 

From the little creek where we landed, a small zig-zag path 
led up the sides of the cliff, the track by which the peasants 
carried the sea-weed which they gathered for manure ; and 
up this we now slowly wended our way, — stopping for some 
time to gaze at the ample bay beneath us, the tall-masted 
frigates floating so majestically on its glassy surface. It was 
a scene of tranquil and picturesque beauty, with which it 
would have been almost impossible to associate the idea of 
war and invasion. In the lazy bunting that hung listlessly 
from peak and mast-head, in the cheerful voices of the 
sailors heard afar off in the stillness, in the measured plash 
of the sea itself, and the fearless daring of the sea-gulls as 
they soared slowly above our heads, there seemed something 
so suggestive of peace and tranquillity that it struck us as 
profanation to disturb it. 

As we gained the top and looked around us, our astonish- 
ment became even greater. A long succession of low hills, 
covered with tall ferns or heath, stretched away on every 
side, — not a house, nor a hovel, nor a living thing to be 
seen. Had the country been one uninhabited since the 
Creation, it could not have presented an aspect of more 
thorough desolation. No road-track, not even a foot-path, 
led through the dreary waste before us, on which, to all seem- 
ing, the foot of man had never fallen ; and as we stood for 
some moments, uncertain which way to turn, a sense of the 
ridiculous suddenly burst upon the party, and we all broke 
into a hearty roar of laughter. 

“I little thought,” cried Charost, “that I should ever 
emulate La Perouse ; but it strikes me that I am destined 
to become a great discoverer.” 


A “RECONNAISSANCE.’ 


193 


“ How so, Colonel?” asked his aide-de-camp. 

“Why, it is quite clear that this same island is unin- 
habited ; and if it be all like this, I own I ’m scarcely sur- 
prised at it.” 

44 Still, there must be a town not far off, and the residence 
of that bishop we heard of this morning.” 

A half incredulous shrug of the shoulders was all his 
reply, as he sauntered along with his hands behind his back, 
apparently lost in thought; while we, as if instinctively 
partaking of his gloom, followed him in total silence. 

44 Do you know, gentlemen, what I’m thinking of?” said 
he, stopping suddenly and facing about. 4 4 My notion is, 
that the best thing to do here would be to plant our tricolor, 
proclaim the land a colony of France, and take to our boats 
again.” 

This speech, delivered with an air of great gravity, imposed 
upon us for an instant ; but the moment after, the speaker 
breaking into a hearty laugh, we all joined him, as much 
amused by the strangeness of our situation as by anything 
in his remark. 

44 We never could bring our guns through a soil like this, 
Colonel,” said the aide-de-camp, as he struck his heel into 
the soft and clayey surface. 

44 If we could ever land them at all! ” muttered he, half 
aloud ; then added, 4 4 But for what object should we ? 
Believe me, gentlemen, if we are to have a campaign here, 
bows and arrows are the true weapons.” 

4 4 Ah, what do I see yonder ? ” cried the aide-de-camp ; 
44 are not those sheep feeding in that little glen? ” 

44 Yes,” cried I, 44 and a man herding them, too. See, the 
fellow has caught sight of us, and he ’s off as fast as his legs 
can carry him.” And so was it: the man had no sooner 
seen us than he sprung to his feet and hurried down the 
mountain at full speed. 

Our first impulse was to follow and give him chase, and 
even without a word we all started off in pursuit ; but we 
soon saw how fruitless would be the attempt, for, even 
independent of the start he had got of us, the peasant’s 
speed was more than the double of our own. 

44 No matter,” said the colonel ; 44 if we have lost the shep- 
13 


194 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


herd we have at least gained the sheep, and so I recommend 
you to secure mutton for dinner to-morrow.” 

With this piece of advice, down the hill he darted as hard 
as he could, Briolle, the aide-de-camp, and myself following 
at our best pace. We were reckoning without our host, how- 
ever ; for the animals, after one stupid stare at us, set off in 
a scamper that soon showed their mountain breeding, keep- 
ing all together like a pack of hounds, and really not very 
inferior in the speed they displayed. 

A little gorge led between the hills, and through this they 
rushed madly, and with a clatter like a charge of cavalry. 
Excited by the chase, and emulous each to outrun the other, 
the colonel threw off his shako, and Briolle his sword, in the 
ardor of pursuit. We now gained on them rapidly, and 
though, from a winding in the glen, they had momentarily 
got out of sight, we knew that we were close upon them. I 
was about thirty paces in advance of my comrades, when, on 
turning an angle of the gorge, I found myself directly in 
front of a group of mud hovels, near which were standing 
about a dozen ragged, miserable-looking men, armed with 
pitchforks and scythes, while in the rear stood the sheep, 
blowing and panting from the chase. 

I came to a dead stop ; and although I would have given 
worlds to have had my comrades at my side, I never once 
looked back to see if they were coming, but, putting a bold 
face on the matter, called out the only few words I knew of 
Irish, “ Go de-mat ha tu.” 

The peasants looked at each other ; and whether it was my 
accent, my impudence, or my strange dress and appearance, 
or altogether, I cannot say, but after a few seconds’ pause 
they burst out into a roar of laughter, in the midst of which 
my two comrades came up. 

“We saw the sheep feeding on the hills yonder,” said I, 
recovering self-possession, “ and guessed that by giving them 
chase they ’d lead us to some inhabited spot. What is this 
place called?” 

“ Shindrennin,” said a man who seemed to be the chief of 
the party; “and, if I might make so bould, who are you 
yourselves ? ” 

“ French officers; this is my colonel,” said I, pointing to 


A “ RECONNAISSANCE.” 


195 


Charost, who was wiping his forehead and face after his late 
exertion. 

The information, far from producing the electric effect of 
pleasure I had anticipated, was received with a coldness 
almost amounting to fear, and they spoke eagerly together 
for some minutes in Irish. 

“ Our allies evidently don’t like the look of us,” said 
Charost, laughing; “ and if the truth must be told, I own 
the disappointment is mutual.” 

“’Tis too late you come, sir,” said the peasant, address- 
ing the colonel, while he removed his hat, and assumed an 
air of respectful deference. “ ’T is all over with poor Ireland, 
this time.” 

“ Tell him,” said Charost, to whom I translated the speech, 
“that it’s never too late to assert a good cause; that we 
have got arms for twenty thousand, if they have but hands 
and hearts to use them. Tell him that a French army is now 
lying in that bay yonder, ready and able to accomplish the 
independence of Ireland.” 

I delivered my speech as pompously as it was briefed to 
me ; and although I was listened to in silence and respect- 
fully, it was plain my words carried little or no conviction 
with them. Not caring to waste more of our time in such 
discourse, I now inquired about the country, — in what 
directions lay the high-roads, and the relative situations of 
the towns of Killala, Castlebar, and Ballina, the only places 
of comparative importance in the neighborhood. I next 
asked about the landing-places, and learned that a small 
fishing-harbor existed not more than half a mile from the 
spot where we had landed, from which a little country road 
lay to the village of Palmers town. As to the means of trans- 
porting baggage, guns, and ammunition, there were few horses 
to be had ; but with money we might get all we wanted, — 
indeed, the peasants constantly referred to this means of 
success, even to asking “What the French would give a 
man that was to join them?” If I did not translate the 
demand with fidelity to my colonel, it was really that a sense 
of shame prevented me. My whole heart was in the cause ; 
and I could not endure the thought of its being degraded in 
this way. It was growing duskish, and the colonel proposed 


196 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


that the peasant should show us the way to the fishing-har- 
bor he spoke of, while some other of the party might go 
round to our boat, and direct them to follow us thither. 
The arrangement was soon made, and we all sauntered down 
towards the shore, chatting over the state of the country 
and the chances of a successful rising. From the speci- 
men before me, I was not disposed to be over sanguine 
about the peasantry. The man was evidently disaffected 
towards England, — he bore her neither good-will nor love ; 
but his fears were greater than all else. He had never heard 
of anything but failure in all attempts against her; and 
he could not believe in any other result. Even the aid and 
alliance of France inspired no other feeling than distrust; 
for he said more than once, “Sure, what can harm yez? 
Have n’t ye yer ships beyant, to take yez away if things 
goes bad ? ” 

I was heartily glad that Colonel Charost knew so little 
English, that the greater part of the peasant’s conversation 
was unintelligible to him, since from the first he had always 
spoken of the expedition in terms of disparagement; and 
certainly what we were now to hear was not of a nature to 
controvert the prediction. 

In our ignorance as to the habits and modes of thought 
of the people, we were much surprised at the greater interest 
the peasant betrayed when asking us about France and her 
prospects than when the conversation concerned his own 
country. It appeared as though in the one case distance 
gave grandeur and dimensions to all his conceptions, while 
familiarity with home scenes and native politics had robbed 
them of all their illusions. He knew well that there were 
plenty of hardships, abundance of evils, to deplore in Ire- 
land : rents were high, taxes and tithes oppressive, agents 
were severe, bailiffs were cruel. Social wrongs he could 
discuss for hours ; but of political woes, the only ones we 
could be expected to relieve or care for, he really knew noth- 
ing. “ ’Tis true,” he repeated, “ that what my honor said 
was all right, Ireland was badly treated,” and so on; “ lib- 
erty was an elegant thing if a body had it,” and such like ; 
but there ended his patriotism. 

Accustomed for many a day to the habits of a people 


A “ RECONNAISSANCE.’ 


197 


where all were politicians, where the rights of man and the 
grand principles of equality and self-government were ever- 
lastingly under discussion, I was, I confess it, sorely disap- 
pointed at this worse than apathy. 

“ Will they fight? Ask him that,” said Charost, to whom 
I had been conveying a rather rose-colored version of my 
friend’s talk. 

44 Oh, be gorra ! we ’ll fight sure enough ! ” said he, with a 
half -dogged scowl beneath his brows. 

4 4 What number of them may we reckon on in the neigh- 
borhood ? ” repeated the colonel. 

44 ’Tis mighty har to say; many of the boys were gone 
over to England for the harvest; some were away to the 
counties inland ; others were working on the roads, — but if 
they knew, sure they ’d be soon back again.” 

44 Might they calculate on a thousand stout, effective 
men ? ” asked Charost. 

44 Ay, twenty, if they were at home,” said the peasant, 
less a liar by intention than from the vague and careless dis- 
regard of truth so common in all their own intercourse with 
each other. 

I must own that the degree of credit we reposed in the 
worthy man’s information was considerably influenced by the 
state of facts before us, inasmuch as the 44 elegant, fine har- 
bor ” he had so gloriously described, 44 the beautiful road,” 
44 the neat little quay” to land upon, and the other advan- 
tages of the spot, all turned out to be most grievous disap- 
pointments. That the people were not of our own mind on 
these matters was plain enough from the looks of astonish- 
ment our discontent provoked ; and now a lively discussion 
ensued on the relative merits of various bays, creeks, and 
inlets along the coast, each of which, with some unpro- 
nounceable name or other, was seen to have a special ad- 
vocate in its favor, till at last the colonel lost all patience, 
and jumping into the boat, ordered the men to push off for 
the frigate. 

Evidently out of temper at the non-success of his 4 4 recon- 
naissance,” and as little pleased with the country as the 
people, Charost did not speak a word as we rowed back to 
the ship. Our failure, as it happened, was of little moment; 


198 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


for another party, under the guidance of Madgett, had 
already discovered a good landing-place at the bottom of 
the Bay of Rathfran, and arrangements were already in 
progress to disembark the troops at daybreak. We also 
found that during our absence some of the “chiefs” had 
come off from shore, one of whom, named Neal Kerrigan, 
was destined to attain considerable celebrity in the rebel 
army. He was a talkative, vulgar, presumptuous fellow, 
who, without any knowledge or experience whatever, took 
upon him to discuss military measures and strategy with all 
the assurance of an old commander. 

Singularly enough, Humbert suffered this man to influence 
him in a great degree, and yielded opinion to him on points 
even where his own judgment was directly opposed to the 
advice he gave. 

If Kerrigan’s language and bearing were directly the 
reverse of soldier-like, his tawdry uniform of green and gold, 
with massive epaulettes and a profusion of lace, were no less 
absurd in our eyes, accustomed as we were to the almost 
puritan plainness of military costume. His rank, too, seemed 
as undefined as his information ; for while he called himself 
“general,” his companions as often addressed him by the 
title of “ captain.” Upon some points his counsels, indeed, 
alarmed and astonished us. 

“It was of no use whatever,” he said, “to attempt to 
discipline the peasantry, or reduce them to anything like 
habits of military obedience. Were the effort to be made, it 
would prove a total failure ; for they would either grow dis- 
gusted with the restraint, and desert altogether, or so infect 
the other troops with their own habits of disorder that the 
whole force would become a mere rabble. Arm them well, 
let them have plenty of ammunition, and free liberty to use 
it in their own way and their own time, and we should soon 
see that they would prove a greater terror to the English than 
double the number of trained and disciplined troops.” 

In some respects this view was a correct one ; but whether 
it was a wise counsel to have followed, subsequent events 
gave us ample cause to doubt. 

Kerrigan, however, had a specious, reckless, go-a-head 
way with him that suited well the tone and temper of Hum- 


A “RECONNAISSANCE/ 


199 


bert’s mind. He never looked too far into consequences, but 
trusted that the eventualities of the morrow would always 
suggest the best course for the day after ; and this alone was 
so akin to our own general’s mode of proceeding that he 
speedily won his confidence. 

The last evening on board was spent merrily on all sides. 
In the general cabin, where the staff and all the chefs de 
brigade were assembled, gay songs and toasts and speeches 
succeeded each other till nigh morning. The printed pro- 
clamations, meant for circulation among the people, were 
read out with droll commentaries ; and all imaginable quiz- 
zing and jesting went on about the new government to be 
established in Ireland, and the various offices to be bestowed 
upon each. Had the whole expedition been a joke, the tone 
of levity could not have been greater. Not a thought was 
bestowed, not a word wasted, upon any of the graver inci- 
dents that might ensue. All were, if not hopeful and san- 
guine, utterly reckless, and thoroughly indifferent to the 
future. 


CHAPTER XX. 


KILLALA. 

I will not weary my reader with an account of our debarka- 
tion, less remarkable as it was for the ‘ ‘ pomp and circum- 
stance of war” than for incidents and accidents the most 
absurd and ridiculous, — the miserable boats of the peasantry, 
the still more wretched cattle employed to drag our artillery 
and train wagons, involving us in innumerable misfortunes 
and mischances. Never were the heroic illusions of war 
more thoroughly dissipated than by the scenes which accom- 
panied our landing, — boats and baggage-wagons upset ; 
here, a wild, half savage-looking fellow swimming after a 
cocked hat ; there, a group of ragged wretches scraping sea- 
weed from a dripping officer of the staff ; noise, uproar, and 
confusion everywhere; smart aides-de-camp mounted on 
donkeys ; trim field-pieces 1 ‘ horsed ” by a promiscuous 
assemblage of men, women, cows, ponies, and asses. Crowds 
of idle country people thronged the little quay, and, obstruct- 
ing the passages, gazed upon the whole with eyes of wonder- 
ment and surprise, but evidently enjoying all the drollery of 
the scene with higher relish than they felt interest in its 
object or success. This trait in them soon attracted all our 
notice, for they laughed at everything ; not a caisson tum- 
bled into the sea, not a donkey brought his rider to the 
ground, but one general shout shook the entire assemblage. 

If want and privation had impressed themselves by every 
external sign on this singular people, they seemed to possess 
inexhaustible resources of good humor and good spirits 
within. No impatience or rudeness on our part could irritate 
them; and even to the wildest and least civilized-looking 
fellow around, there was a kind of native courtesy and kindli- 
ness that could not fail to strike us. 


KILLALA. 


201 


A vague notion prevailed that we were their “ friends ; ” 
and although many of them did not clearly comprehend why 
we had come, or what was the origin of the warm attach- 
ment between us, they were too lazy and too indifferent to 
trouble their heads about the matter. They were satisfied 
that there would be a ‘ 4 shindy ” somewhere, and some- 
body’s bones would get broken, — and even that much was 
a pleasant and reassuring consideration ; while others of 
keener mould revelled in plans of private vengeance against 
this landlord or that agent, small debts of hatred to be paid 
off in the day of general reckoning. 

From the first moment nothing could exceed the tone of 
fraternal feeling between our soldiers and the people. With- 
out any means of communicating their thoughts by speech, 
they seemed to acquire an instinctive knowledge of each 
other in an instant. If the peasant was poor, there was no 
limit to his liberality in the little he had. He dug up his 
half-ripe potatoes, he unroofed his cabin to furnish straw for 
litter, he gave up his only beast, and was ready to kill his 
cow, if asked, to welcome us. Much of this was from the 
native, warm, and impulsive generosity of their nature ; and 
much, doubtless, had its origin in the bright hopes of future 
recompense inspired by the eloquent appeals of Neal Kerri- 
gan, who, mounted on an old gray mare, rode about on 
every side, addressing the people in Irish, and calling 
upon them to give all aid and assistance to “ the expedition.” 

The difficulty of the landing was much increased by the 
small space of level ground which intervened between the 
cliffs and the sea, and of which now the thickening crowd 
filled every spot. This and the miserable means of convey- 
ance for our baggage delayed us greatly ; so that, with a com- 
paratively small force, it was late in the afternoon before we 
had all reached the shore. 

We had none of us eaten since morning, and were not 
sorry, as we crowned the heights, to hear the drums beat for 
“cooking.” In an inconceivably short time fires blazed 
along the hills, around which in motley groups stood 
soldiers and peasantry mingled together, while the work of 
cooking and eating went briskly on, amid hearty laughter 
and all the merriment that mutual mistakes and misconcep- 


202 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


tions occasioned. It was a new thing for French soldiers to 
bivouac in a friendly country, and find themselves the wel- 
come guests of a foreign people ; and certainly the honors 
of hospitality, however limited the means, could not have 
been performed with more of courtesy or good-will. Paddy 
gave his “ all,” with a generosity that might have shamed 
many a richer donor. 

While the events I have mentioned were going forward, 
and a considerable crowd of fishermen and peasants had 
gathered about us, still it was remarkable that, except imme- 
diately on the coast itself, no suspicion of our arrival had 
gained currency, and even the country people who lived a 
mile from the shore were ignorant of who we were. The 
few who from distant heights and headlands had seen the 
ships mistook them for English ; and as all those who were 
out with fish or vegetables to sell were detained by the frig- 
ates, any direct information about us was impossible. So far, 
therefore, all might be said to have gone most favorably 
with us. We had safely escaped the often-menaced dangers 
of the channel fleet ; we had gained a secure and well shel- 
tered harbor ; and we had landed our force not only with- 
out opposition, but in perfect secrecy. There were, I will 
not deny, certain little counterbalancing circumstances on 
the other side of the account not exactly so satisfactory. 
The patriot forces upon which we had calculated had no 
existence. There were neither money, nor stores, nor means 
of conveyance to be had ; even accurate information as to 
the strength and position of the English was unattainable ; 
and as to generals and leaders, the effective staff had but a 
most sorry representative in the person of Neal Kerrigan. 
This man’s influence over our general increased with every 
hour, and one of the first orders issued after our landing 
contained his appointment as an extra aide-de-camp on 
General Humbert’s staff. 

In one capacity Neal was most useful. All the available 
sources of pillage for a wide circuit of country he knew by 
heart ; and it was plain, from the accurate character of his 
information, varying, as it did, from the chattels of the rich 
landed proprietor to the cocks and hens of the cottier, that 
he had taken great pains to master his subject. At his 


KILLALA. 


203 


suggestion it was decided that we should march that evening 
on Killala, where little or more likely no resistance would be 
met with, and General Humbert should take up his quarters 
in the “Castle,” as the palace of the bishop was styled. 
There, he said, we should not only find ample accommodation 
for the staff, but good stabling, well filled, and plenty of 
forage, while the bishop himself might be a most useful 
hostage to have in our keeping. From thence, too, as a 
place of some note, general orders and proclamations would 
issue, with a kind of notoriety and importance necessary at 
the outset of an undertaking like ours ; and truly never was 
an expedition more loaded with this species of missive than 
ours, — whole cart-loads of printed papers, decrees, placards, 
and such like, followed us. If our object had been to drive 
out the English by big type and a flaming letter-press, we 
could not have gone more vigorously to work. Fifty thou- 
sand broad-sheet announcements of Irish independence were 
backed by as many proud declarations of victory, some dated 
from Limerick, Cashel, or Dublin itself. 

Here, a great placard gave the details of the new Pro- 
vincial Government of Western Ireland, with the name of 
the Prefect a blank ; there was another containing the police 
regulations for the arrondissements of Connaught, et ses 
dependances. Every imaginable step of conquest and occu- 
pation was anticipated and provided for in these wise and 
considerate protocols, from the “ enthusiastic welcome of the 
French on the western coast,” to the hour of “ General 
Humbert’s triumphal entry into Dublin ! ” Nor was it prose 
alone, but even poetry did service in our cause. Songs, not, 
I own, conspicuous for any great metrical beauty, commem- 
orated our battles and our bravery ; so that we entered upon 
the campaign as deeply pledged to victory as any force I 
ever heard or read of in history. 

Neal, who was, I believe, originally a schoolmaster, had 
great confidence in this arsenal of “black and white,” and 
soon persuaded General Humbert that a bold face and a 
loud tongue would do more in Ireland than in any country 
under heaven ; and indeed, if his own career might be called 
a success, the theory deserved some consideration. A great 
part of our afternoon was then spent in distributing these 


204 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


documents to the people, — not one in a hundred of whom 
could read, but who treasured the placards with a reverence 
nothing diminished by their ignorance. Emissaries, too, 
were appointed to post them up in conspicuous places 
through the country, on the doors of the chapels, at the 
smiths’ forges, at cross-roads, everywhere, in short, where 
they might attract notice. The. most important and 
business-like of all these, however, was one headed “Arms! 
Arms ! ” and which went on to say that no man who wished 
to lift his hand for old Ireland need do so without a weapon ; 
and that a general distribution of guns, swords, and bayo- 
nets would take place at noon the following day at the 
Palace of Killala. 

Serasin, and, I believe, Madgett, were strongly opposed 
to this indiscriminate arming of the people; but Neal’s 
counsels were now in the ascendant, and Humbert gave an 
implicit confidence to all he suggested. 

It was four o’clock in the evening when the word to march 
was given, and our gallant little force began its advance 
movement. Still attached to Colonel Charost’s staff, and 
being, as chasseurs, in the advance, I had a good opportu- 
nity of seeing the line of march from an eminence about half 
a mile in front. Grander and more imposing displays I 
have indeed often witnessed. As a great military spectacle 
it could not, of course, be compared with those mighty 
armies I had seen deploying through the defiles of the Black 
Forest, or spreading like a sea over the wide plain of Ger- 
many ; but in purely picturesque effect, this scene surpassed 
all I had ever beheld at the time, nor do I think that in 
after-life I can recall one more striking. 

The winding road which led over hill and valley, now dis- 
appearing, now emerging, with the undulations of the soil, 
was covered by troops marching in a firm, compact order, — 
the grenadiers in front, after which came the artillery, and 
then the regiments of the line. Watching the dark column, 
occasionally saluting it as it went with a cheer, stood thou- 
sands of country people on every hill-top and eminence, while 
far away in the distance the frigates lay at anchor in the bay, 
the guns at intervals thundering out a solemn boom of 
welcome and encouragement to their comrades. 


KILLALA. 


205 


There was something so heroic in the notion of that little 
band of warriors throwing themselves fearlessly into a 
strange land, to contest its claim for liberty with one of the 
most powerful nations of the world ; there was a character 
of daring intrepidity in this bold advance, they knew not 
whither, nor against what force, — that gave the whole an 
air of glorious chivalry. 

I must own that distance lent its wonted illusion to the 
scene, and proximity, like its twin-brother familiarity, de- 
stroyed much of the prestige my fancy had conjured up. 
The line of march, so imposing when seen from afar, was 
neither regular nor well kept. The peasantry were permitted 
to mingle with the troops ; ponies, mules, and asses, loaded 
with camp-kettles and cooking- vessels, were to be met with 
everywhere. The baggage-wagons were crowded with offi- 
cers and sous-officiers , who, disappointed in obtaining horses, 
were too indolent to walk. Even the gun-carriages, and the 
guns themselves, were similarly loaded ; while at the head of 
the infantry column, in an old rickety gig, the ancient mail 
conveyance between Ballina and the coast, came General 
Humbert, — Neal Kerrigan capering at his side on the old 
gray, whose flanks were now tastefully covered by the tricolor 
ensign of one of the boats as a saddle-cloth. 

This nearer and less enchanting prospect of my gallant 
comrades I was enabled to obtain on being despatched to 
the rear by Colonel Charost, to say that we were now 
within less than a mile of the town of Killala, its venerable 
steeple and the. tall chimneys of the palace being easily seen 
above the low hills in front. Neal Kerrigan passed me as I 
rode back with my message, galloping to the front with all 
the speed he could muster ; but while I was talking to the 
general he came back to say that the beating of drums could 
be heard from the town, and that by the rapid movements 
here and there of people it was evident the defence was be- 
ing prepared. There was a look-out, too, from the steeple, 
that showed our approach was already known. The general 
was not slow in adopting his measures, and the word was 
given for quick march, the artillery to deploy right and left 
of the road, two companies of grenadiers forming on the 
flanks. “ As for you, sir,” said Humbert to me, “ take that 


206 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


horse,” pointing to a mountain pony, fastened behind the 
gig, “ ride forward to the town, and make a reconnaissance. 
You are to report to me,” cried he, as I rode away, and was 
soon out of hearing. 

Quitting the road, I took a foot-track across the fields, 
which the pony seemed to know well, and after a sharp 
canter reached a small, poor suburb of the town, if a few 
straggling wretched cabins can deserve the name. A group 
of countrymen stood in the middle of the road, about fifty 
yards in front of me ; and while I was deliberating whether 
to advance or retire, a joyous cry of “Hurra for the 
French ! ” decided me, and I touched my cap in salute and 
rode forward. 

Other groups saluted me with a similar cheer as I went 
on ; and now windows were flung open, and glad cries and 
shouts of welcome rang out from every side. These signs 
were too encouraging to turn my back upon, so I dashed 
forward through a narrow street in front, and soon found 
myself in a kind of square or Place, the doors and windows 
of which were all closed, and not a human being to be seen 
anywhere. As I hesitated what next to do, I saw a soldier 
in a red coat rapidly turn the corner. ‘ ‘ What do you want 
here, you spy?” he cried out in a loud voice, and at the 
same instant his bullet rang past my ear with a whistle. I 
drove in the spurs at once, and just as he had gained a 
doorway, I clove his head open with my sabre ; he fell dead 
on the spot before me. Wheeling my horse round, I now 
rode back as I had come, at full speed, the same welcome 
cries accompanying me as before. 

Short as had been my absence, it was sufficient to have 
brought the advanced guard close up with the town ; and 
just as I emerged from the little suburb, a quick, sharp 
firing drew my attention towards the left of the wall, and 
there I saw our fellows advancing at a trot, while about 
twenty red-coats were in full flight before them, the wild 
cries of the country people following them as they went. 

I had but time to see thus much, and to remark that two 
or three English prisoners were taken, when the general 
came up. He had now abandoned the gig, and was mounted 
on a large, powerful black horse, which I afterwards learned 


IvILLALA. 


207 


was one of the bishop’s. My tidings were soon told, and, 
indeed, but indifferently attended to, for it was evident 
enough that the place was our own. 

“ This way, General — follow me ! ” cried Kerrigan. “ If 
the light companies will take the road down to the Acres, 
they ’ll catch the yeomen as they retreat by that way, and we 
have the town our own.” 

The counsel was speedily adopted ; and although a drop- 
ping fire here and there showed that some slight resistance 
was still being made, it was plain enough that all real 
opposition was impossible. 

“ Forward ! ” was now the word ; and the chasseurs with 
their muskets “in sling” advanced at a trot up the main 
street. At a little distance the grenadiers followed, and 
debouching into the square, were received by an ill-directed 
volley from a few of the militia, who took to their heels after 
they fired. Three or four red-coats were killed ; but the 
remainder made their escape through the churchyard, and 
gaining the open country, scattered and fled as best they 
could. 

Humbert, who had seen war on a very different scale, 
could not help laughing at the absurdity of the skirmish, and 
was greatly amused with the want of all discipline and 
“accord” exhibited by the English troops. 

“I foresee, gentlemen,” said he, jocularly, “that we may 
have abundance of success, but gain very little glory, in the 
same campaign. Now for a blessing upon our labors ; 
where shall we find our friend the bishop?” 

“ This way, General,” cried Neal, leading down a narrow 
street, at the end of which stood a high wall, with an iron 
gate. This was locked, and some efforts at barricading it 
showed the intention of a defence ; but a few strokes of a 
pioneer’s hammer smashed the lock, and we entered a kind 
of pleasure-ground, neatly and trimly kept. We had not 
advanced many paces when the bishop, followed by a great 
number of his clergy, — for it happened to be the period of 
his annual visitation, — came forward to meet us. 

Humbert dismounted, and removing his chapeau, saluted 
the dignitary with a most finished courtesy. I could see, 
too, by his gesture, that he presented General Serasin, the 


208 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


second in command ; and, in fact, all his motions were those 
of a well-bred guest at the moment of being received by his 
host. Nor was the bishop, on his side, wanting either in 
ease or dignity ; his manner, not without the appearance of 
deep sorrow, was yet that of a polished gentleman doing the 
honors of his house to a number of strangers. 

As I drew nearer, I could hear that the bishop spoke 
French fluently, but with a strong foreign accent. This 
facility however enabled him to converse with ease on every 
subject, and to hold intercourse directly with our general, a 
matter of no small moment to either party. It is probable 
that the other clergy did not possess this gift, for assuredly 
their manner towards us inferiors of the staff was neither 
gracious nor conciliating ; and as for myself, the few efforts 
I made to express in English my admiration for the coast 
scenery, or the picturesque beauty of the neighborhood, were 
met in any rather than a spirit of politeness. 

The generals accompanied the bishop into the castle, leav- 
ing myself and three or four others on the outside. Colonel 
Charost soon made his appearance, and a guard was 
stationed at the entrance gate, with a strong picket in the 
garden. Two sentries were placed at the hall-door, and the 
words “ Quartier-G-eneral ” written up over the portico. A 
small garden pavilion was appropriated to the colonel’s use, 
and made the office of the adjutant-general ; and in less than 
half an hour after our arrival, eight sous-officiers were hard 
at work under the trees, writing away at billets, contribution 
orders, and forage rations, — while I, from my supposed 
fluency in English, was engaged in carrying messages to and 
from the staff to the various shopkeepers and tradesmen of 
the town, numbers of whom now flocked around us with 
expressions of welcome and rejoicing. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


OUR ALLIES. 

I have spent pleasanter, but I greatly doubt if I ever knew 
busier, days than those I passed at the Bishop’s Palace at 
Killala ; and now, as I look back upon the event, I cannot 
help wondering that we could seriously have played out a 
farce so full of absurdity and nonsense. There was a gross 
mockery of all the usages of war, which, had it not been for 
the serious interests at stake, would have been highly laugh- 
able and amusing. 

Whether it was the important functions of civil govern- 
ment, the details of police regulation, the imposition of con- 
tributions, the appointment of officers, or the arming of the 
volunteers, — all was done with a pretentious affectation of 
order that was extremely ludicrous. The very institutions 
which were laughingly agreed at over-night, as the wine went 
briskly round, were solemnly ratified in the morning, and, 
still more strange, apparently believed in by those whose 
ingenuity devised them; and thus the “Irish Directory,” as 
we styled the imaginary government, the National Treasury, 
the Pension fund, were talked of with all the seriousness of 
facts. As to the Commissariat, to which I was for the time 
attached, we never ceased writing receipts and acknowledg- 
ments for stores and munitions of war, all of which were to 
be honorably acquitted by the Treasury of the Irish Republic. 

No people could have better fallen in with the humor 
of this delusion than the Irish. They seemed to believe 
everything ; and yet there was a reckless, headlong indiffer- 
ence about them which appeared to say that they were 
equally prepared for any turn fortune might take, and if the 
worst should happen they would never reproach us for having 
misled them. The real truth was — but we only learned it 

14 


210 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


too late — all those who joined us were utterly indifferent to 
the great cause of Irish independence ; their thoughts never 
rose above a row and a pillage. It was to be a season of 
sack, plunder, and outrage, but nothing more. That such 
were the general sentiments of the volunteers I believe 
none will dispute. We however, in our ignorance of the 
people and their language, interpreted all the harum-scarum 
wildness we saw as the buoyant temperament of a high- 
spirited nation, who, after centuries of degradation and ill- 
usage, saw the dawning of liberty at last. 

Had we possessed any real knowledge of the country, we 
should at once have seen that of those who joined us none 
were men of any influence or station. If now and then a 
man of any name strayed into the camp, he was sure to be 
one whose misconduct or bad character had driven him from 
associating with his equals ; and, even of the peasantry, our 
followers were of the very lowest order. Whether General 
Humbert was the first to notice the fact I know not ; but 
Charost, I am certain, remarked it, and even thus early 
predicted the utter failure of the expedition. 

I must confess the “ Volunteers ” were the least impos- 
ing of allies. I think I have the whole scene before my 
eyes this moment, as I saw it each morning in the Palace 
garden. 

The enclosure, which, more orchard than garden, occupied 
a space of a couple of acres, was the headquarters of Colonel 
Charost ; and here, in a pavilion formerly dedicated to hoes, 
rakes, rolling-stones, and garden- tools, we were now estab- 
lished to the number of fourteen. As the space beneath the 
roof was barely sufficient for the colonel’s personal use, the 
officers of his staff occupied convenient spots in the vicinity. 
My station was under a large damson-tree, the fruit of which 
afforded me more than once the only meal I tasted from early 
morning till late at night, — not, I must say, from any lack 
of provisions, for the Palace abounded with every requisite 
of the table, but that, such was the pressure of business, we 
were not able to leave off work even for half an hour during 
the day. 

A subaltern’s guard of grenadiers, divided into small 
parties, did duty in the garden ; and it was striking to mark 


OUR ALLIES. 


211 


the contrast between these bronzed and war-worn figures and 
the reckless tatterdemalion host around us. Never was seen 
such a scare-crow set, — wild-looking, ragged wretches, 
their long, lank hair hanging down their necks and shoulders, 
usually bare-footed, and with every sign of starvation in 
their features. They stood in groups and knots, gesticulat- 
ing, screaming, hurraing, and singing in all the exuberance 
of a joy that caught some, at least, of its inspiration from 
whiskey. 

It was utterly vain to attempt to keep order amongst 
them ; even the effort to make them defile singly through the 
gate into the garden was soon found impracticable, without 
the employment of a degree of force that our adviser, 
Kerrigan, pronounced would be injudicious. Not only the 
men made their way in, but great numbers of women, and 
even children also ; and there they were, seated around fires, 
roasting their potatoes in this bivouac fashion, as though 
they had deserted hearth and home to follow us. 

Such was the avidity to get arms — of which the distribu- 
tion was announced to take place here — that several had 
scaled the wall in their impatience ; and as they were more 
or less in drink, some disastrous accidents were momen- 
tarily occurring, adding the cries and exclamations of suffer- 
ing to the ruder chorus of joy and revelry that went on 
unceasingly. 

The impression, — we soon saw how absurd it was, — the 
impression that we should do nothing that might hurt the 
national sensibilities, but concede all to the exuberant ardor 
of a bold people eager to be led against their enemies, 
induced us to submit to every imaginable breach of order and 
discipline. 

“Ina day or two they’ll be like your own men; you’ll 
not know them from a battalion of the line. Those fellows 
will be like a wall under fire.” 

Such and such like were the assurances we were listening 
to all day, and it would have been like treason to the cause 
to have refused them credence. 

Perhaps I might have been longer a believer in this 
theory, had I not perceived signs of a deceptive character 
in these our worthy allies ; many who to our faces wore 
nothing but looks of gratitude and delight, no sooner mixed 


212 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


with their fellows than their downcast faces and dogged 
expression betrayed some inward sense of disappointment. 

One very general source' of dissatisfaction arose from the 
discovery that we were not prepared to pay our allies ! We 
had simply come to arm and lead them, to shed our own 
blood, and pledge our fortunes in their cause ; but we cer- 
tainly had brought no military chest to bribe their patriotism, 
nor stimulate their nationality, — and this I soon saw was a 
grievous disappointment. 

In virtue of this shameful omission on our part, they deemed 
the only resource was to be made officers ; and thus crowds 
of uneducated, semi-civilized vagabonds were every hour 
assailing us with their claims to the epaulette. Of the whole 
number of these, I remember but three who had ever served 
at all ; two were notorious drunkards, and the third a con- 
firmed madman, from a scalp wound he had received when 
fighting against the Turks. Many, however, boasted high- 
sounding names, and were, at least so Kerrigan said, men of 
the first families in the land. 

Our general-in-chief saw little of them while at Killala, 
his principal intercourse being with the bishop and his family ; 
but Colonel Charost soon learned to read their true character, 
and from that moment conceived the most disastrous issue 
to our plans. The most trustworthy of them was a certain 
O’Donnell, who, although not a soldier, was remarked to 
possess a greater influence over the rabble volunteers than 
any of the others. He was a young man of the half-squire 
class, an ardent and sincere patriot after his fashion; but 
that fashion, it must be owned, rather partook of the charac- 
ter of class-hatred and religious animosity than the features 
of a great struggle for national independence. He took a 
very low estimate of the fighting qualities of his countrymen, 
and made no secret of declaring it. 

“You would be better without them altogether,” said he 
one day to Charost; “but if you must have allies, draw 
them up in line, select one third of the best, and arm them.” 

“ And the rest? ” asked Charost. 

“ Shoot them,” was the answer. 

.This conversation is on record, — indeed, I believe there 
is yet one witness living to corroborate it. 

I have said that we were very hard worked ; but I must 


OUR ALLIES. 


213 


fain acknowledge that the real amount of business done was 
very insignificant, so many were the mistakes, misconceptions, 
and interruptions, not to speak of the time lost by that 
system of conciliation of which I have already made mention. 
In our distribution of arms there was as little selection prac- 
tised as possible. The process was a brief one, but it might 
have been briefer. 

Thomas Colooney, of Banmayroo, was called, and not 
usually being present, the name would be passed on from 
post to post, till it swelled into a general shout of Colooney. 

“ Tom Colooney, you ’re wanted ! Tom, run for it, man, 
there ’s a price bid for you ! Here ’s Mickey, his brother ; 
maybe he ’ll do as well.” 

And so on, — all this accompanied by shouts of laughter, 
and a running fire of jokes, which, being in the vernacular, 
was lost to us. 

At last the real Colooney was found, maybe eating his 
dinner of potatoes, maybe discussing his poteen with a friend ; 
sometimes engaged in the domestic duties of washing his 
shirt or his small-clothes, fitting a new crown to his hat, or 
a sole to his brogues. Whatever his occupation, he was urged 
forward by his friends and the public with many a push, 
drive, and even a kick, into our presence, where, from the 
turmoil, uproar, and confusion, he appeared to have fought 
his way by main force, — and very often, indeed, this was 
literally the fact, as his bleeding nose, torn coat, and bare 
head attested. 

“ Thomas Colooney, are you the man? ” asked one of our 
Irish officers of the staff. 

4 4 Yis, yer honor, I ’m that same ! ” 

44 You’ve come here, Colooney, to offer yourself as a vol- 
unteer in the cause of your country ? ” 

Here a yell of 44 Ireland forever! ” was always raised by 
the bystanders, which drowned the reply in its enthusiasm, 
and the examination went on : — 

44 You ’ll be true and faithful to that cause till you secure 
for your country the freedom of America and the happiness 
of France? Kiss the cross. Are you used to firearms? ” 

44 Is n’t he? Maybe not ! I ’ll be bound he knows a mus- 
ket from a mealy pratie ! ” 

Such and such like were the comments that rang on all 


214 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


sides, so that the modest “Yis, sir,” of the patriot was 
completely lost. 

“ Load that gun, Tom,” said the officer. 

Here Colooney, deeming that so simple a request must 
necessarily be only a cover for something underhand, — a 
little clever surprise or so, — takes up the piece in a very 
gingerly manner, and examines it all round, noticing that 
there is nothing, so far as he can discover, unusual or un- 
common about it. 

“ Load that gun, I say ! ” 

Sharper and more angrily is the command given this time. 

“Yis, sir, immadiately.” 

And now Tom tries the barrel with the ramrod, lest there 
should be already a charge there, — a piece of forethought 
•that is sure to be loudly applauded by the public, not' the less 
so because the impatience of the French officers is making 
itself manifest in various ways. 

At length he rams down the cartridge, and returns the 
ramrod ; which piece of adroitness, if done with a certain 
air of display and flourish, is unfailingly saluted by another 
cheer. He now primes and cocks the piece, and assumes a 
look of what he believes to be most soldier-like severity. 

As he stands thus for scrutiny, a rather lively debate gets 
up as to whether or not Tom bit off the end of the cartridge 
before he rammed it down. The biters and anti-biters being 
equally divided, the discussion waxes strong. The French 
officers, eagerly asking what may be the disputed point, 
laugh very heartily on hearing it. 

“ I’ll lay ye a pint of sperits she won’t go off,” cries one. 

“Done! for two naggins, if he pulls strong,” rejoins 
another. 

“ Devil fear the same gun,” cries a third; “ she shot Mr. 
Sloan at fifty paces, and killed him dead.” 

“ T is n’t the same gun ; that ’s a Frinch one, — a bran new 
one ! ” 

“ She isn’t.” 

“ She is.” 

“No, she isn’t.” 

“ Yes, but she is.” 

“ What is ’t you say? ” 

“ Hould your prate ! ” 


OUR ALLIES. 


215 


“ Arrah, teach your mother to feed ducks ! ” 

4 4 Silence in the ranks ! Keep silence there ! Attention, 
Colooney ! ” 

“ Yis, sir.” 

‘ 4 Fire ! ” 

44 What at, sir? ” asks Tom, taking an amateur glance of 
the company, who look not over satisfied at his scrutiny. 

4 4 Fire in the air ! ” 

Bang goes the piece, and a yell follows the explosion, while 
cries of “Well done, Tom!” “Begorra, if a Protestant 
got that ! ” and so on, greet the performance. 

“Stand by, Colooney! ” and the volunteer falls back to 
make way for another and similar exhibition, occasionally 
varied by the humor or the blunders of the new candidate. 

As to the Treasury orders, as we somewhat ludicrously 
styled the cheques upon our imaginary bank, the scenes 
they led to were still more absurd and complicated. We 
paid liberally, that is to say in promises, for everything ; 
and our generosity saved us a good deal of time, for it was 
astonishing how little the owners disputed our solvency when 
the price was left to themselves. But the rations were in- 
deed the most difficult matter of all, — it being impossible to 
convince our allies of the fact that the compact was one of 
trust, and the ration was not his own to dispose of in any 
manner that might seem fit. 

“ Sure, if I don’t like to ate it, if I have n’t an appetite 
for it, if I ’d rather have a pint of sperits or a flannel waist- 
coat or a pair of stockings than a piece of mate, what harm 
is that to any one ? ” 

This process of reasoning was much harder of answer than 
is usually supposed ; and even when replied to, another diffi- 
culty arose in its place. Unaccustomed to flesh diet, when 
they tasted they could not refrain from it ; and the whole 
week’s rations of beef, amounting to eight pounds, were 
frequently consumed in the first twenty-four hours. 

Such instances of gormandizing were by no means unfre- 
quent, and, stranger still, in no one case, so far as I knew, 
followed by any ill consequences. 

The leaders were still more difficult to manage than the 
people. Without military knowledge or experience of any 
kind, they presumed to dictate the plan of a campaign to old 


216 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


and distinguished officers like Humbert and Serasin, and when 
overruled by argument or ridicule, invariably fell back upon 
them superior knowledge of Ireland and her people, — a 
defence for which, of course, we were quite unprepared and 
unable to oppose anything. 

From these and similar causes it may well be believed 
that our labors were not light, and yet somehow, with all 
the vexations and difficulties around us, there was a con- 
genial tone of levity, an easy recklessness, and a careless 
freedom in the Irish character that suited us well. There 
was but one single point whereupon we were not thoroughly 
together, and this was religion. They were a nation of most 
zealous Catholics ; and as for us, the revolution had not left 
the vestige of a belief amongst us. 

A reconnaissance in Ballina, meant rather to discover the 
strength of the garrison than of the place itself, having shown 
that the royal forces were inconsiderable in number and 
mostly militia, General Humbert moved forward, on Sunday 
morning the 26th, with nine hundred men of our own force, 
and about three thousand “volunteers,” — leaving Colonel 
Charost and his staff, with two companies of foot, at Killala, 
to protect the town, and organize the new levies as they were 
formed. 

We saw our companions defile from the town with heavy 
hearts. The small body of real soldiers seemed even smaller 
still from being enveloped by that mass of peasants who 
accompanied them, and who marched on the flanks or in the 
rear promiscuously, without discipline or order, — a noisy, 
half-drunken rabble, firing off their muskets at random, and 
yelling as they went, in savage glee and exultation. Our 
sole comfort was in the belief that when the hour of combat 
did arrive, they would fight to the very last. Such were the 
assurances of their own officers, and made so seriously and 
confidently that we never thought of mistrusting them. 

“ If they be but steady under fire,” said Charost, “ a month 
will make them good soldiers. Ours is an easy drill, and 
soon learned ; but I own,” he added, “ they do not give me 
this impression.” 

Such was the reflection of one who watched them as they 
went past, and with sorrow we saw ourselves concurring in 
the sentiment. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE DAY OF 4 4 CASTLEBAR.” 

We were all occupied with our drill at daybreak on the 
morning of the 27th of August, when a mounted orderly 
arrived at full gallop, with news that our troops were in 
motion for Castlebar, and orders for us immediately to march 
to their support, leaving only one subaltern and twenty men 
in the Castle. 

The worthy bishop was thunderstruck at the tidings. It 
is more than probable that he never entertained any grave 
fears of our ultimate success ; still he saw that in the 
struggle, brief as it might be, rapine, murder, and pillage 
would spread over the country, and that crime of every 
sort would be certain to prevail during the short interval of 
anarchy. 

As our drums were beating the 44 rally,” he entered the 
garden, and with hurried steps came forward to where 
Colonel Charost was standing delivering his orders. 

44 Good day, Mgr. l’Eveque,” said the colonel, removing 
his hat, and bowing low. 44 You see us in a moment of 
haste. The campaign has opened, and we are about to 
march.” 

4 4 Have you made any provision for the garrison of this 
town, colonel? ” said the bishop, in terror. 44 Your presence 
alone here restrained the population hitherto. If you leave 
us — ” 

44 We shall leave you a strong force of our faithful allies, 
sir,” said Charost; “Irishmen could scarcely desire better 
defenders than their countrymen.” 

44 You forget, colonel, that some of us here are averse to 
this cause, but as non-combatants lay claim to protection.” 

44 You shall have it, too, Mgr. l’Eveque ; we leave an 
officer and twenty men.” 


218 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


4 4 An officer and twenty men ! ” echoed the bishop in 
dismay. 

44 Quite sufficient, I assure you,” said Charost, coldly ; 
44 and if a hair of one of their heads be injured by the 
populace, trust me, sir, that we shall take a terrible 
vengeance.” 

44 You do not know these people sir, as I know them,” said 
the bishop, eagerly. 44 The same hour that you march out, 
will the town of Killala be given up to pillage. As for your 
retributive justice, I may be pardoned for not feeling any 
consolation in the pledge, for certes neither I nor mine will 
live to witness it.” 

As the bishop was speaking, a crowd of volunteers, some in 
uniform and all armed, drew nearer and nearer to the place of 
colloquy ; and although understanding nothing of what went 
forward in the foreign language, seemed to watch the expres- 
sions of the speakers’ faces with a most keen interest. To 
look at the countenances of these fellows, truly one would 
not have called the bishop’s fears exaggerated ; their expres- 
sion was that of demoniac passion and hatred. 

44 Look, sir,” said the bishop, turning round, and facing 
the mob, 44 look at the men to whose safeguard you propose 
to leave us ! ” 

Charost made no reply ; but making a sign for the bishop 
to remain where he was, re-entered the pavilion hastily. I 
could see through the window that he was reading his 
despatches over again, and evidently taking counsel with 
himself how to act. The determination was quickly come 
to. 

44 Mgr. l’Eveque,” said he, laying his hand on the bishop’s 
arm, 44 1 find that my orders admit of a choice on my part. 
I will therefore remain with you myself, and keep a suffi- 
cient force of my own men. It is not impossible, however, 
that in taking this step I may be perilling my own safety. 
You will, therefore, consent that one of your sons shall 
accompany the force now about to march, as a hostage. 
This is not an unreasonable request on my part.” 

44 Very well, sir,” said the bishop, sadly. 44 When do they 
leave ? ” 

44 Within half an hour,” said Charost. 


THE DAY OF “CASTLEBAR” 


219 


The bishop, bowing, retraced his steps through the garden 
back to the house. Our preparations for the road were by 
this time far advanced. The command said, “ Light march- 
ing order, and no rations ; ” so that we foresaw that there 
was sharp work before us. Our men — part of the twelfth 
demi-brigade, and a half company of grenadiers — were, 
indeed, ready on the instant; but the Irish were not so 
easily equipped. Many had strayed into the town; some, 
early as it was, were dead drunk ; and not a few had mislaid 
their arms or their ammunition, secretly preferring the 
chance of a foray of their own to the prospect of a regular 
engagement with the Royalist troops. 

Our force was still a considerable one, numbering at least 
fifteen hundred volunteers, besides about eighty of our men. 
By seven o’clock we were under march, and with drums 
beating defiled from the narrow streets of Killala into the 
mountain road that leads to Cloonagh, it being our object 
to form a junction with the main body at the foot of the 
mountain. 

Two roads led from Ballina to Castlebar, — one to the east- 
ward, the other to the west of Lough Con. The former was 
a level road, easily passable by wheel carriages, and without 
any obstacle or difficulty whatever ; the other took a straight 
direction over lofty mountains, and in one spot — the Pass of 
Barnageeragh — traversed a narrow defile shut in between 
steep cliffs, where a small force, assisted by artillery, could 
have arrested the advance of a great army. The road itself 
too was in disrepair; the rains of autumn had torn and 
fissured it, while heavy sandslips and fallen rocks in many 
places rendered it almost impassable. 

The Royalist generals had reconnoitred it two days before, 
and were so convinced that all approach in this direction was 
out of the question that a small picket of observation, posted 
near the Pass of Barnageeragh, was withdrawn as useless, 
and the few stockades they had fixed were still standing as 
we marched through. 

General Humbert had acquired all the details of these 
separate lines of attack, and at once decided for the moun- 
tain road, which besides the advantage of a surprise was in 
reality four miles shorter. 


220 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


The only difficulty was the transport of our artillery ; but 
as we merely carried those light field-pieces called “ curricle 
guns,” and had no want of numbers to draw them, this was 
not an obstacle of much moment. With fifty, sometimes 
sixty, peasants to a gun, they advanced at a run up places 
where our infantry found the ascent sufficiently toilsome. 
Here, indeed, our allies showed in the most favorable 
colors we had yet seen them. The prospect of a fight 
seemed to excite their spirits almost to madness ; every 
height they surmounted they would break into a wild cheer, 
and the vigor with which they tugged the heavy ammuni- 
tion-carts through the deep and spongy soil never interfered 
with the joyous shouts they gave and the merry songs they 
chanted in rude chorus. 

“ Tra, la, la ! the French is cornin’, 

What ’ll now the red coats do ? 

Maybe they won’t get a drubbin’ ! 

Sure we ’ll lick them black and blue ! 

“Ye little knew the day was near ye, 

Ye little thought they ’d come so far ; 

But here ’s the boys that never fear ye, — 

Run, yer sowls, for Castlebar ! ” 

To this measure they stepped in time ; and although the 
poetry was lost upon our ignorance, the rattling joyousness 
of the air sounded pleasantly, and our men, soon catching 
up the tune, joined heartily in the chorus. 

Another very popular melody ran somewhat thus : — 

“ Our day is now begun, 

Says the Shan van voght, 

Our day is now begun, 

Says the Shan van voght. 

Our day is now begun, 

And ours is all the fun ! 

Be my sowl ye ’d better run ! 

Says the Shan van voght ! ” 

There were something like a hundred verses to this famous 
air, but it is more than likely, from the specimen given above, 
that my reader will forgive the want of memory that leaves 
me unable to quote the remaining ninety-nine ; nor is it 


THE DAY OF “ CASTLEBAR. 1 


221 


necessary that I should add that the merit of these canticles 
lay in the hoarse accord of a thousand rude voices, heard in 
the stillness of a wild mountain region, and at a time when 
an eventful struggle was before us. Such were the circum- 
stances which possibly made these savage rhymes assume 
something of terrible meaning. 

We had just arrived at the entrance of Barnageeragh, 
when one of our mounted scouts rode up to say that a 
peasant, who tended cattle on the mountains, had evidently 
observed our approach, and hastened into Castlebar with 
the tidings. 

It was difficult to make General Humbert understand this 
fact. 

‘ 4 Is this the patriotism we have heard so much of ? Are 
these the people who would welcome us as deliverers ? Par- 
bleu! I’ve seen nothing but lukewarmness or downright 
opposition since I landed ! In that same town we have 
just quitted — a miserable hole, too, was it — what was the 
first sight that greeted us? A fellow in our uniform hang- 
ing from the stanchion of a window, with an inscription 
round his neck to the purport that he was a traitor ! This 
is the fraternity which our Irish friends never wearied to 
speak of ! ” 

Our march was now hastened, and in less than an hour we 
debouched from the narrow gorge into the open plain before 
the town of Castlebar. A few shots in our front told us that 
the advanced picket had fallen in with the enemy, but a 
French cheer also proclaimed that the Royalists had fallen 
back, and our march continued unmolested. The road, 
which was wide and level here, traversed a flat country 
without hedgerow or cover, so that we were able to advance 
in close column, without any precaution for our flanks ; but 
before us there was a considerable ascent, which shut out all 
view of the track beyond it. Up this our advanced guard 
was toiling, somewhat wearied with a seven hours’ march 
and the heat of a warm morning, when scarcely had the 
leading files topped the ridge than plump went a round-shot 
over their heads, which, after describing a fine curve, plunged 
into the soft surface of a newly-ploughed field. The troops 
were instantly retired behind the crest of the hill, and an 


222 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


orderly despatched to inform the general that we were in 
face of the enemy. He had already seen the shot and 
marked its direction. The main body was accordingly halted, 
and, defiling from the centre, the troops extended on either 
side into the fields. While this movement was being effected 
Humbert rode forward, and, crossing the ridge, reconnoitred 
the enemy. 

It was, as he afterwards observed, a stronger force than 
he had anticipated, consisting of between three and four 
thousand bayonets, with four squadrons of horse, and two 
batteries of eight guns, the whole admirably posted on a 
range of heights in front of the town, and completely 
covering it. 

The ridge was scarcely eight hundred yards’ distance, and 
so distinctly was every object seen that Humbert and his 
two aides-de-camp were at once marked and fired at, even in 
the few minutes during which the reconnaissance lasted. 

As the general retired the firing ceased ,* and now all our 
arrangements were made without molestation of any kind. 
They were, indeed, of the simplest and speediest. Two com- 
panies of our grenadiers were marched to the front, and in 
advance of them, about twenty paces, were posted a body 
of Irish in French uniforms, — this place being assigned 
them, it was said, as a mark of honor, but in reality for no 
other purpose than to draw on them the Royalist artillery', 
and thus screen the grenadiers. 

Under cover of this force came two light six-pounder 
guns, loaded with grape, and intended to be discharged at 
point-blank distance. The infantry brought up the rear 
in three compact columns, ready to deploy into line at a 
moment. 

In these very simple tactics no notice whatever was taken 
of the great rabble of Irish who hung upon our flanks and 
rear in disorderly masses, cursing, swearing, and vocifera- 
ting in all the license of insubordination ; and O’Donnell, 
whose showy uniform contrasted strikingly with the dark- 
blue coat and low glazed cocked hat of Humbert, was now 
appealed to by his countrymen as to the reason of this pal- 
pable slight. 

“ What does he want, what does the fellow say?” asked 


THE DAY OE “CASTLEBAR. 1 


223 


Humbert, as he noticed his excited gestures and passionate 
manner. 

“He is remonstrating, sir, ” replied I, “on the neglect 
of his countrymen ; he says that they do not seem treated 
like soldiers ; no post has been assigned nor any order given 
them.” 

“ Tell him, sir,” said Humbert, with a savage grin, “ that 
the discipline we have tried in vain to teach them hitherto 
we ’ll not venture to rehearse under an enemy’s fire ; and tell 
him also that he and his ragged followers are free to leave 
us, or, if they like better, to turn against us, at a moment’s 
warning.” 

I was saved the unpleasant task of interpreting this civil 
message by Conolly, who, takiiig O’Donnell aside, appeared 
endeavoring to reason with him, and reduce him to something 
like moderation. 

“ There, look at them, they’re running like sheep ! ” cried 
Humbert, laughing, as he pointed to an indiscriminate rabble, 
some hundred yards off in a meadow, and who had taken to 
their heels on seeing a round-shot plunge into the earth near 
them. “Come along, sir; come with me, and when you 
have seen what fire is, you may go back and tell your country- 
men ! Serasin, is all ready? Well then, forward, march! ” 

“ March ! ” was now re-echoed along the line, and steadily, 
as on a parade, our hardy infantry stepped out, while 
the drums kept up a continued roll as we mounted the 
hill. 

The first to cross the crest of the ascent were the “Le- 
gion,” as the Irish were called, who, dressed like French 
soldiers, were selected for some slight superiority in discipline 
and bearing. They had but gained the ridge, however, 
when a well-directed shot from a six-pounder smashed in 
amongst them, killing two, and wounding six or seven others. 
The whole mass immediately fell back on our grenadiers. 
The confusion compelled the supporting column to halt, and 
once more the troops were retired behind the hill. 

“ Forward, men, forward!” cried Humbert, riding up to 
the front, and in evident impatience at these repeated 
checks ; and now the grenadiers passed to the front, and, 
mounting the height, passed over, while a shower of balls 


224 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


flew over and around them. A small slated house stood half 
way down the hill, and for this the leading files made a dash 
and gained it, just as the main body were, for the third 
time, driven back to re-form. 

It was now evident that an attack in column could not 
succeed against a fire so admirably directed, and Humbert 
quickly deployed into line, and prepared to storm the enemy’s 
position. 

Up to this the conduct of the Royalists had been marked 
by the greatest steadiness and determination. Every shot 
from their batteries had told, and all promised an easy and 
complete success to their arms. No sooner, however, had 
our infantry extended into line, than the militia, unaccus- 
tomed to see an enemy before them, and unable to calculate 
distance, opened a useless, dropping fire at a range where 
not a bullet could reach ! 

The ignorance of this movement and the irregularity of 
the discharge were not lost upon our fellows, most of whom 
were veterans of the army of the Rhine, and with a loud 
cheer of derision our troops advanced to meet them, while a 
cloud of skirmishers dashed forward and secured themselves 
under cover of a hedge. 

Even yet, however, no important advantage had been 
gained by us, and if the Royalists had kept their ground in 
support of their artillery we must have been driven back 
with loss ; but, fortunately for us, a movement we made to 
keep open order was mistaken by some of the militia officers 
for the preparation to outflank them; a panic seized the 
whole line, and they fell back, leaving their guns totally 
exposed and unprotected. 

“ They ’re running ! they ’re running ! ” was the cry along 
our line ; and now a race was seen, which should be first up 
with the artillery. The cheers at this moment were tremen- 
dous ; for our u allies,” who had kept wide aloof hitherto, 
were now up with us, and, more lightly equipped than we 
were, soon took the lead. The temerity, however, was 
costly, for three several times did the Royalist artillery load 
and fire ; and each discharge, scarcely at half-musket range, 
was terribly effective. 

We were by no means prepared for either so sudden or 


THE DAY OF « CASTLEBAR/ 


225 


complete a success ; and the scene was exciting in the high- 
est degree, as the whole line mounted the hill, cheering 
madly. From the crest of this rising ground we could now 
see the town of Castlebar beneath us, into which the Royal- 
ists were scampering at full speed. A preparation for 
defending the bridge into the town did not escape the watch- 
ful eyes of our general, who again gave the word “ For- 
ward ! ” not by the road alone, but also by the fields at 
either side, so as to occupy the houses that should command 
the bridge, and which, by a palpable neglect, the others had 
forgotten to do. 

Our small body of horse, about twenty hussars, were 
ordered to charge the bridge, and had they been even moder- 
ately well mounted must have captured the one gun of the 
enemy at once ; but the miserable cattle, unable to strike a 
canter, only exposed them to a sharp musketry, and when 
they did reach the bridge five of their number had fallen. 
The six-pounder was, however, soon taken, and the gunners 
sabred at their posts, while our advanced guard coming up, 
completed the victory; and nothing now remained but a 
headlong flight. 

Had we possessed a single squadron of dragoons, few 
could have escaped us, for not a vestige of discipline re- 
mained. All was wild confusion and panic. Such of the 
officers as had ever seen service were already killed or badly 
wounded ; and the younger ones were perfectly unequal to 
the difficult task of rallying or restoring order to a routed 
force. 

The scene in the market-square, as we rode in, is not 
easily to be forgotten ; about two hundred prisoners were 
standing in a group, disarmed, it is true, but quite unguarded, 
and without any preparation or precaution against escape. 

Six or seven English officers, amongst whom were two 
majors, were gathered around General Humbert, who was 
conversing with them in tones of easy and jocular famil- 
iarity. The captured guns of the enemy (fourteen in all) 
were being ranged on one side of the square, while behind 
them were drawn up a strange-looking line of men, with 
their coats turned. These were part of the Kilkenny militia, 
who had deserted to our ranks after the retreat began. 

15 


226 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


Such was the “ fight ” of Castlebar, — it would be absurd to 
call it a “ battle,” — a day too inglorious for the Royalists to 
reflect any credit upon us ; but, such as it was, it raised the 
spirits of our Irish followers to a pitch of madness, and out 
of our own ranks none now doubted the certainty of Irish 
independence. 

Our occupation of the town lasted only a week ; but brief 
as the time was, it was sufficient to widen the breach between 
ourselves and our allies into an open and undisguised hatred. 
There were, unquestionably, wrongs on both sides. As for 
us, we were thoroughly, bitterly disappointed in the 
character of those we had come to liberate ; and making 
the egregious mistake of confounding these semi-civilized 
peasants with the Irish people, we deeply regretted that ever 
the French army should have been sent on so worthless a 
mission. As for them, they felt insulted and degraded by 
the offensive tone we assumed towards them. Not alone 
were they never regarded as comrades, but a taunting inso- 
lence of manner was assumed in all our dealings with them, 
very strikingly in contrast to that with which we conducted 
ourselves towards all the other inhabitants of the island, 
even those who were avowedly inimical to our object and our 
cause. 

These things, with native quickness, they soon remarked. 
They saw the consideration and politeness with which the 
bishop and his family were treated ; they saw several 
Protestant gentlemen suffered to return to their homes “ on 
parole.” They saw too — worst grievance of all — how all 
attempts at pillage were restrained, or severely punished ; 
and they asked themselves, “ To what end a revolt, if neither 
massacre nor robbery were to follow? If they wanted 
masters and rulers, sure they had the English that they were 
used to, and could at least understand.” 

Such were the causes and such the reasonings which 
gradually eat deeper and deeper into their minds, rendering 
them at first sullen, gloomy, and suspicious, and at last 
insubordinate and openly insulting to us. 

Their leaders were the first to exhibit this state of feeling. 
Affecting a haughty disdain for us, they went about with dis- 
paraging stories of the French soldiery ; and at last went 
even so far as to impugn their courage. 


THE DAY OF “CASTLEBAR. 1 


227 


In one of the versions of the affair of Castlebar, it was 
roundly asserted that but for the Irish threatening to fire on 
them the French would have turned and fled ; while in 
another the tactics of that day were all ascribed to the mili- 
tary genius of Neal Kerrigan, who, by the bye, was never 
seen from early morning until late the same afternoon, when 
he rode into Castlebar on a fine bay horse that belonged to 
Captain Shortall of the Royal Artillery. 

If the feeling between us and our allies was something 
less than cordial, nothing could be more friendly than that 
which subsisted between us and such of the Royalists as we 
came in contact with. The officers who became our prisoners 
were treated with every deference and respect. Two field- 
officers and a captain of carbineers dined daily with the 
general, and Serasin entertained several others. We liked 
them greatly ; and I believe I am not flattering, if I say that 
they were equally satisfied with us. “ Nos amis l’ennemis,” 
was the constant expression used in talking of them ; and 
every day drew closer the ties of this comrade regard and 
esteem. 

Such was the cordial tone of intimacy maintained between 
us that I remember well, one evening at Humbert’s table, an 
animated discussion being carried on between the general 
and an English staff-officer on the campaign itself, — the 
Royalist averring that in marching southward at all a gross 
and irreparable mistake had been made, and that if the 
French had occupied Sligo, and extended their wings 
towards the north, they would have secured a position of 
infinitely greater strength, and also become the centre for 
rallying round them a population of a very different order 
from the half-starved tribes of Mayo. 

Humbert affected to say that the reason for his actual plan 
was that twenty thousand French were daily expected to 
land in Lough Swilly, and that the western attack was 
merely to occupy time and attention while the more formid- 
able movement went on elsewhere. 

I know not if the English believed this ; I rather suspect 
not. Certes, they were too polite to express any semblance 
of distrust of what was told them with all the air of truth. 

It was amusing, too, to see the candor with which each 


228 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


party discussed the other to his face, — the French general 
criticising all the faulty tactics and defective manoeuvres of 
the Royalists ; while the English never hesitated to aver that 
whatever momentary success might wait upon the French 
arms, they were just as certain to be obliged to capitulate in 
the end. 

“ You know it better than I do, General,” said the major 
of dragoons. “ It may be a day or two earlier or later, but 
the issue will and must be — a surrender.” 

“I don’t agree with you,” said Humbert, laughing; “I 
think there will be more than one ‘ Castlebar.’ But let the 
worst happen, — and you must own that your haughty coun- 
try has received a heavy insult, — your great England has 
got a souffl&t in the face of all Europe ! ” 

This, which our general regarded as a great compensation, 
— the greatest, perhaps, he could receive for all defeat, — 
did not seem to affect the English with proportionate dismay, 
nor even to ruffle the equanimity of their calm tempers. 

Upon one subject both sides were quite agreed, — that the 
peasantry never could aid, but very possibly would always 
shipwreck, every attempt to win national independence. 

“ I should have one army to fight the English, and two to 
keep down the Irish ! ” was Humbert’s expression ; and very 
little experience served to show that there was not much 
exaggeration in the sentiment. 

Our week at Castlebar taught us a good lesson in this 
respect. The troops, wearied with a march that had begun 
on the midnight of the day before, and with an engagement 
that lasted from eight till two in the afternoon, were obliged 
to be under arms for several hours to repress pillage and 
massacre. Our allies now filled the town, to the number of 
five thousand, openly demanding that it should be given up 
to them, — parading the streets in riotous bands, and dis- 
playing banners with long lists of names doomed for imme- 
diate destruction. 

The steadiness and temper of our soldiery were severely 
tried by these factious and insubordinate spirits ; but dis- 
cipline prevailed at last, and before the first evening closed 
in the town was quiet, and for the time at least danger 
over. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


“ THE TOWN-MAJOR OF CASTLEBAR.” 

I am at a loss to know whether or not I owe an apology to 
my reader for turning away from the more immediate object 
of this memoir of a life, to speak of events which have 
assumed an historical reputation. It may be thought ill- 
becoming in one who occupied the subordinate station that 
I did, to express himself on subjects so very far above both 
his experience and acquaintance ; but I would premise that 
in the opinions I may have formed, and the words of praise 
or censure dropped, I have been but retailing the sentiments 
of those older and wiser than myself, and by whose guidance 
I was mainly led to entertain not only the convictions but 
the prejudices of my early years. 

Let the reader bear in mind, too, that I was very early in 
life thrown into the society of men, — left self-dependent, in 
a great measure, and obliged to decide for myself on subjects 
which usually are determined by older and more mature 
heads. So much of excuse, then, if I seem presumptuous 
in saying that I began to conceive a very low opinion 
generally of popular attempts at independence, and a very 
high one of the powers of military skill and discipline. A 
mob, in my estimation, was the very lowest, and an army 
about the very highest, object I could well conceive. My 
short residence at Castlebar did not tend to controvert these 
impressions. The safety of the town and its inhabitants 
was entirely owing to the handful of French who held it, 
and who, wearied with guards, pickets, and outpost duty, 
were a mere fraction of the small force that had landed a few 
days before. 

Our “allies” were now our most difficult charge. Aban- 
doning the hopeless task of drilling and disciplining them, 
we confined ourselves to the more practical office of re- 


230 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


straining pillage and repressing violence, — a measure, be it 
said, that was not without peril, and of a very serious kind. 
I remember one incident, which, if not followed by grave 
consequences, yet appeared at the time of a very serious 
character. 

By the accidental misspelling of a name, a man named 
Dowall, a notorious ruffian and demagogue, was appointed 
“ Commandant de Place,” or town-major, instead of a most 
respectable shopkeeper named Downes, and who, although 
soon made aware of the mistake, from natural timidity took 
no steps to undeceive the general. Dowall was haranguing 
a mob of half-drunken vagabonds when his commission was 
put into his hands, and accepting the post as an evidence of 
the fears the French entertained of his personal influence, 
became more overbearing and insolent than ever. We had 
a very gallant officer, the second major of the twelfth 
Regiment of the Line, killed in the attack on Castlebar, and 
this Dowall at once took possession of poor Delaitre’s horse, 
arms, and equipment. His coat and shako, his very boots 
and gloves, the scoundrel appropriated, and as if in 
mockery of us and our poor friend, assumed a habit that 
he had, when riding fast, to place his sabre between his leg 
and the saddle to prevent its striking the horse on the 
flanks. 

I need scarcely say that thoroughly disgusted by the 
unsightly exhibition, our incessant cares and the endless 
round of duty we were engaged in, as well as the critical 
position we occupied, left us no time to notice the fellow’s 
conduct by any other than a passing sign of anger or con- 
tempt, — provocations that he certainly gave us back as inso- 
lently as we offered them. I do not believe that the general 
ever saw him, but I know that incessant complaints were 
daily made to him about the man’s rapacity and tyranny, and 
scarcely a morning passed without a dozen remonstrances 
being preferred against his overbearing conduct. 

Determined to have his own countrymen on his side, he 
issued the most absurd orders for the billeting of the rabble, 
the rations and allowances of all kinds. He seized upon one 
of the best houses for his own quarters and three fine 
saddle-horses for his personal use, besides a number of 
inferior ones for the ruffian following he called his staff. 


THE TOWN-MAJOR OF CASTLEBAR.' 


231 


It was, indeed, enough to excite laughter, had not indig- 
nation been the more powerful emotion, to see this fellow ride 
forth of a morning, — a tawdry scarf of green, with deep gold 
fringe, thrown over his shoulder, and a saddle-cloth of the 
same color, profusely studded with gold shamrocks, on his 
horse ; a drawn sword in his hand, and his head erect, 
followed by an indiscriminate rabble on foot or horseback, 
some with muskets, some pikes, some with sword-blades, 
bayonets, or even knives fastened on sticks, but all alike 
ferocious-looking and savage. 

They affected to march in order, and with a rude imita- 
tion of soldiery carried something like a knapsack on their 
shoulders, surmounted by a kettle, or tin cup, or sometimes 
an iron pot, — a grotesque parody on the trim cooking equip- 
ment of the French soldier. It was evident, from their step 
and bearing, that they thought themselves in the very height 
of discipline ; and this very assumption was far more insult- 
ing to the real soldier than all the licentious irregularity of 
the marauder. If to us they were objects of ridicule and 
derision, to the townspeople they were images of terror and 
dismay. The miserable shopkeeper who housed one of them 
lived in continual fear ; he knew nothing to be his own, and 
felt that his property and family were every moment at the 
dictate of a ruffian gang, who acknowledged no law, nor any 
rule save their own will and convenience. Dowall’s squad 
were indeed as great a terror in that little town as I had 
seen the great name of Robespierre in the proud city of 
Paris. 

In my temporary position on General Serasin’s staff, I 
came to hear, much of this fellow’s conduct. The most 
grievous stories were told me every day of his rapacity and 
cruelty; but harassed and overworked as the general was 
with duties that would have been over-much for three or four 
men, I forbore to trouble him with recitals which could only 
fret and distress him without affording the slightest chance 
of relief to others. Perhaps this impunity had rendered 
him more daring, or, perhaps the immense number of armed 
Irish, in comparison with the small force of disciplined sol- 
diers, emboldened the fellow ; but certainly he grew day by 
day more presumptuous and insolent, and at last so far forgot 


232 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


himself as to countermand one of General Serasin’s orders, 
by which a guard was stationed at the Protestant church to 
prevent its being molested or injured by the populace. 

General Humbert had already refused the Roman Catholic 
priest his permission to celebrate mass in that building ; but 
Do wall had determined otherwise, and that, too, by a written 
order under his own hand. The French sergeant who com- 
manded the guard of course paid little attention to this war- 
rant ; and when Father Hennisy wanted to carry the matter 
with a high hand, he coolly tore up the paper and threw the 
fragments at him. Dowall was soon informed of the slight 
offered to his mandate. He was at supper at the time, enter- 
taining a party of his friends, who all heard the priest’s story, 
and of course loudly sympathized with his sorrows, and 
invoked the powerful leader’s aid and protection. Affecting 
to believe that the sergeant had merely acted in ignorance, 
and from not being able to read English, Dowall despatched a 
fellow, whom he called his aide-de-camp, — a schoolmaster 
named Lowrie, and who spoke a little bad French, — to inter- 
pret his command, and to desire the sergeant to withdraw his 
men and give up the guard to a party of “ the squad.” 

Great was the surprise of the supper party, when, after 
the lapse of half-an-hour, a country fellow came in to say 
that he had seen Lowrie led off to prison between two 
French soldiers. By this time Dowall had drunk himself 
into a state of utter recklessness ; while encouraged by his 
friend’s praises, and the arguments of his own passions, he 
fancied that he might dispute ascendancy with General 
Humbert himself. He at once ordered out his horse, and 
gave a command to assemble “ the squad.” As they were 
all billeted in his immediate vicinity, this was speedily 
effected, and their numbers swelled by a vast mass of idle 
and curious, who were eager to see how the matter would 
end ; the whole street was crowded, and when Dowall 
mounted, his followers amounted to above a thousand 
people. 

If our sergeant, an old soldier of the “ Sambre et Meuse,” 
had not already enjoyed some experience of our allies, it is 
more than likely that, seeing their hostile advance, he would 
have fallen back upon the main guard, then stationed in the 


THE TOWN-MAJOR OF CASTLEBAR.' 


233 


market-square. As it was, he simply retired his party 
within the church, the door of which had already been 
pierced for the use of musketry. This done, and one of his 
men being despatched to headquarters for advice and orders, 
he waited patiently for the attack. 

I happened that night to make one of General Serasin’s 
dinner party, and we were sitting over our wine, when the 
officer of the guard entered hastily with the tidings of what 
was going on in the town. 

“ Is it the Commandant de Place himself is at the head? ” 
exclaimed Serasin, in amazement, such a thought being a 
direct shock to all his ideas of military discipline. 

“ Yes, sir,” said the officer, “ the soldier knows his appear- 
ance well, and can vouch for its being him.” 

“ As I know something of him, General,” said I, “ I may 
as well mention that nothing is more likely.” 

“ Who is he — what is he?” asked Serasin, hastily. 

A very brief account (I need not say not a flattering one) 
told all that I knew or had ever heard of our worthy 
Town Major, — many of the officers around corroborating, 
as I went on, all that I said, and interpolating little details 
of their own about his robberies and exactions. 

“ And yet I have heard nothing of all this before,” said 
the general, looking sternly around him on every side. 

None ventured on a reply, and what might have followed 
there is no guessing, when the sharp rattle of musketry cut 
short all discussion. 

“ That fire was not given by soldiers,” said Serasin. “ Go, 
Tiernay, and bring this fellow before me at once.” 

I bowed, and was leaving the room, when an officer, hav- 
ing whispered a few words in Serasin’s ear, the general 
called me back, saying, — 

“You are not to incur any risk, Tiernay; I want no 
struggle, still less a rescue. You understand me?” 

“Perfectly, General; the matter will, I trust, be easy 
enough.” t 

And so I left the room, my heart — shall I avow it ? — 
bumping and throbbing in a fashion that gave a very poor 
corroboration to my words. There were always three or four 
horses ready saddled for duty at each general’s quarters, and 


234 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


taking one of them, I ordered a corporal of dragoons to 
follow me, and set out. It was a fine night of autumn ; the 
last faint sunlight was yet struggling with the coming dark- 
ness, as I rode at a brisk trot down the main street towards 
the scene of action. 

I had not proceeded far when the crowds compelled me to 
slacken my pace to a walk, and finding that the people 
pressed in upon me in such a way as to prevent anything like 
a defence if attacked, still more any chance of an escape by 
flight, I sent the corporal forward to clear a passage, and 
announce my coming to the redoubted Commandant. It 
was curious to see how the old dragoon’s tactic effected his 
object, and with what speed the crowd opened and fell back, 
as with a flank movement of his horse he 44 passaged ” up 
the street, prancing, bounding, and back-leaping, yet all the 
while perfectly obedient to the hand, and never deviating 
from the straight line in the very middle of the thoroughfare. 

I could catch from the voices around me that the mob had 
fired a volley at the church-door, but that our men had never 
returned the fire ; and now a great commotion of the crowd, 
and that swaying, surging motion of the mass which is so 
peculiarly indicative of a coming event, told that something 
more was in preparation. And such was it; for already 
numbers were hurrying forward with straw-fagots, broken 
furniture, and other combustible material, which, in the 
midst of the wildest cries and shouts of triumph, were now 
being heaped up against the door. Another moment, and I 
should have been too late ; as it was, my loud summons to 
“ halt,” and a bold command for the mob to fall back, only 
came at the very last minute. 

44 Where ’s the commandant? ” said I, in an imperious tone. 

44 Who wants him? ” responded a deep husky voice, which 
I well knew to be Dowall’s. 

44 The general in command of the town,” said I firmly, — 
44 General Serasin.” 

44 Maybe I’m as good a general as himself,” was the 
answer. 44 I never called him my superior yet, — did I, 
boys ? ” 

44 Never — devil a bit — why would you? ” and such like, 
were shouted by the mob around us, in every accent of 
drunken defiance. 


THE TOWN-MAJOR OF CASTLEBAR . 1 


285 


“You ’ll not refuse General Serasin’s invitation to confer 
with you, Commandant, I hope ? ” said I, affecting a tone of 
respectful civility, while I gradually drew nearer and nearer 
to him, contriving, at the same time, by a dexterous 
plunging of my horse, to force back the bystanders, and 
thus isolate my friend Dowall. 

“Tell him I’ve work to do here,” said he, “and can’t 
come ; but if he ’s fond of a bonfire he may as well step down 
this far and see one.” 

By this time, at a gesture of command from me, the 
corporal had placed himself on the opposite side of Dowall’s 
horse, and by a movement similar to my own, completely 
drove back the dense mob, so that we had him completely 
in our power, and could have sabred or shot him at any 
moment. 

“ General Serasin only wishes to see you on duty, Com- 
mandant,” said I, speaking in a voice that could be heard 
over the entire assemblage ; and then dropping it to a 
whisper, only audible to himself, I added, “ Come along 
quietly, sir, and without a word. If you speak, if you 
mutter, or if you lift a finger, I’ll run my sabre through 
your body.” 

‘ 4 Forward ! way, there ! ” shouted I aloud, and the cor- 
poral, holding Dowall’s bridle, pricked the horse with the 
point of his sword, and right through the crowd we went 
at a pace that defied following, had any the daring to think 
of it. 

So sudden was the act and so imminent the peril, for I 
held the point of my weapon within a few inches of his 
back and would have kept my word most assuredly too, that 
the fellow never spoke a syllable as we went, nor ventured 
on even a word of remonstrance till we descended at the 
general’s door. Then, with a voice tremulous with restrained 
passion, he said, — 

“ If ye think I’ll forgive ye this thrick, my fine boy, may 
the flames and fire be my portion ! and if I have n’t my 
revenge on ye yet, my name is n’t Mick Dowall.” 

With a dogged, sulky resolution he mounted the stairs ; 
but as he neared the room where the general was, and from 
which his voice could even now be heard, his courage 
seemed to fail him, and he looked back as though to see if 


236 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


no chance of escape remained. The attempt would have 
been hopeless, and he saw it. 

“This is the man, General,” said I, half pushing him 
forward into the middle of the room, where he stood with 
his hat on, and in an attitude of mingled defiance and terror. 

“Tell him to uncover,” said Serasin; but one of the 
aides-de-camp, more zealous than courteous, stepped forward 
and knocked the hat off with his hand. Dowall never 
budged an inch nor moved a muscle at this insult ; to look 
at him, you could not have said that he was conscious 
of it. 

“ Ask him if it was by his orders that the guard was as- 
sailed,” said the general. 

I put the question in about as many words, but he made 
no reply. 

“ Does the man know where he is? Does he know who I 
am ? ” repeated Serasin, passionately. 

“ He knows both well enough, sir,” said Ij “ this silence 
is a mere defiance of us.” 

4 4 Parbleu ! ” cried an officer, 4 4 that is the coquin took 
poor Delaitre’s equipments ; the very uniform he has on was 
his.” 

44 The fellow was never a soldier,” said another. 

44 1 know him well,” interposed a third, — “ he is the very 
terror of the townsfolk.” 

44 Who gave him his commission — who appointed him?” 
asked Serasin. 

Apparently the fellow could follow some words of French, 
for as the general asked this he drew from his pocket a 
crumpled and soiled paper, which he threw heedlessly upon 
the table before us. 

44 Why, this is not his name, sir,” said I ; 44 this appoint- 
ment is made out in the name of Nicholas Downes, and our 
friend here is called Dowall.” 

44 Who knows him — who can identify him?” asked 
Serasin. 

44 1 can say that his name is Dowall, and that he worked as 
a porter on the quay in this town when I was a boy,” said a 
young Irishman who was copying letters and papers at a side 
table. 44 Yes, Dowall,” said the youth, confronting the look 
which the other gave him, 44 1 am neither afraid nor 


THE TOWN-MAJOR OF CASTLEBAR. 


237 


ashamed to tell you to your face that I know you well, and 
who you are, and what you are.” 

“I’man officer in the Irish Independent Army now,” said 
Dowall, resolutely. “To the divil I fling the French com- 
mission and all that belongs to it. ’T is n’t troops that run 
and guns that burst we want. Let them go back again the 
way they came ; we ’re able for the work ourselves.” 

Before I could translate this rude speech an officer broke 
into the room, with tidings that the streets had been cleared 
and the rioters dispersed ; a few prisoners, too, were taken, 
whose muskets bore trace of being recently discharged. 

“ They fired upon our pickets, General,” said the officer, 
whose excited look and voice betrayed how deeply he felt 
the outrage. 

The men were introduced; three ragged, ill-looking 
wretches, apparently only roused from intoxication by the 
terror of their situation, for each was guarded by a soldier 
with a drawn bayonet in his hand. 

“We only obeyed ordhers, my lord ; we only did what the 
Captain tould us,” cried they, in a miserable, whining tone, 
for the sight of their leader in captivity had sapped all their 
courage. 

“ What am I here for? Who has any business with me?” 
said Dowall, assuming before his followers an attempt at his 
former tone of bully. 

“ Tell him,” said Serasin, “ that wherever a French gene- 
ral stands in full command he will neither brook insolence 
nor insubordination. Let those fellows be turned out of the 
town, and warned never to approach the quarters of the 
army under any pretence whatever. As for this scoundrel, 
we ’ll make an example of him. Order a peloton into the 
yard, and shoot him.” 

I rendered this speech into English as the general spoke it, 
and never shall I forget the wild scream of the wretch as he 
heard the sentence. 

“I’m an officer in the army of Ireland. I don’t belong 
to ye at all. You ’ve no power over me. Oh, Captain, darlin’, 
oh, gentlemen, speak for me! General, dear; General, 
honey, don’t sintince me ! don’t for the love of God ! ” and in 
grovelling terror the miserable creature threw himself on his 
knees to beg for mercy. 


238 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“Tear off his epaulettes,” cried Serasin; “never let a 
French uniform be so disgraced.” 

The soldiers wrenched off the epaulettes at the command ; 
and not satisfied with this, they even tore away the lace 
from the cuffs of the uniform, which now hung in ragged 
fragments over his trembling hands. 

“ Oh, sir! oh, General! oh, gentlemen, have marcy ! ” 

“Away with him,” said Serasin, contemptuously; “ it is 
only the cruel can be such cowards. Give the fellow his 
fusillade with blank cartridge, and the chances are fear will 
kill him outright.” 

The scene that ensued is too shocking, too full of abase- 
ment to record; there was nothing that fear of death, 
nothing that abject terror could suggest, that this miserable 
wretch did not attempt to save his life ; he wept, he begged 
in accents that were unworthy of all manhood, he kissed 
the very ground at the general’s feet in his abject sorrow ; 
and when at last he was dragged from the room his screams 
were the most terrific and piercing. 

Although all my compassion was changed into contempt, I 
felt that I could never have given the word to- fire upon him 
had such been my orders ; his fears had placed him below all 
manhood, but they still formed a barrier of defence around 
him. I accordingly whispered a few words to the sergeant, 
as we passed down the stairs, and then affecting to have for- 
gotten something, I stepped back towards the room where 
the general and his staff were sitting. The scuffling sound of 
feet, mingled with the crash of firearms, almost drowned the 
cries of the still struggling wretch ; his voice, however, burst 
forth into a wild cry, and then there came a pause, — a pause 
that at last became insupportable to my anxiety, and I was 
about to rush downstairs when a loud yell, a savage howl of 
derision and hate, burst forth from the street ; and on looking 
out I saw a vast crowd before the door, who were shouting 
after a man whose speed soon carried him out of reach. 
This was Dowall, who, thus suffered to escape, was told to 
fly from the town and never to return to it. 

“Thank Heaven,” muttered I, “we’ve seen the last of 
him ! ” 

The rejoicing was, however, premature. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


“the mission to the north.” 

I have never yet been able to discover whether General 
Humbert really did feel the confidence that he assumed at 
this period, or that he merely affected it the better to sustain 
the spirits of those around him. If our success at Castlebar 
was undeniable, our loss was also great, and far more than 
proportionate to all the advantages we had acquired. Six 
officers and two hundred and forty men were either killed or 
badly wounded ; and as our small force had really acquired no 
reinforcement worth the name, it was evident that another 
such costly victory would be our ruin. 

Not one gentleman of rank or influence had yet joined us, 
few of the priesthood ; and even among the farmers and 
peasantry it was easy to see that our recruits comprised 
those whose accession could never have conferred honor or 
profit on any cause. 

Our situation was anything but promising. The rumors 
that reached us (and we had no other or more accurate 
information than rumors) told that an army of thirty thou- 
sand men, under the command of Lord Cornwallis, was in 
march against us ; that all the insurrectionary movements of 
the south were completely repressed ; that the spirit of the 
rebels was crushed and their confidence broken, either by 
defeat or internal treachery, — in a word, that the expedition 
had already failed, and the sooner we had the means of leav- 
ing the land of our disasters the better. 

Such were the universal feelings of all my comrades ; but 
Humbert, who had often told us that we were only here to 
eclair er la route for another and more formidable mission, 
now pretended to think that we were progressing most 
favorably towards a perfect success. Perhaps he firmly 


240 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


believed all this, or perhaps he thought that the pretence 
would give more dignity to the finale of an exploit which he 
already saw was nearly played out. I know not which is 
the true explanation, and am half disposed to think that he 
was actuated as much by one impulse as the other. 

The “Army of the North” was the talisman, which we 
now heard of for the first time, to repair all our disasters 
and ensure complete victory. The “ Army of the North,” 
whose strength varied from twenty to twenty-five, and some- 
times reached even thirty thousand, men, and was commanded 
by a distinguished Irish general, was now the centre to which 
all our hopes turned. Whether it had already landed and 
where, of what it consisted and how officered, not one of us 
knew anything ; but by dint of daily repetition and discus- 
sion we had come to believe in its existence as certainly as 
though we had seen it under arms. 

The credulous lent their convictions without any trouble 
to themselves whatever ; the more sceptical studied the map, 
and fancied twenty different places in which they might have 
disembarked ; and thus the “ Army of the North ” grew to be 
a substance and reality as undoubted as the scenes before 
our eyes. 

Never was such a ready solution of all difficulties dis- 
covered as this same “ Army of the North.” Were we to be 
beaten by Cornwallis, it was only a momentary check, for 
the “ Army of the North ” would come up within a few days 
and turn the whole tide of war. If our Irish allies grew 
insubordinate or disorderly, a little patience and the “ Army 
of the North ” would settle all that. Every movement pro- 
jected was fancied to be in concert with this redoubted corps ; 
and at last every trooper that rode in from Killala or Ballina 
was questioned as to whether his despatches did not come 
from the “Army of the North.” 

Frenchmen will believe anything you like for twenty-four 
hours. They can be flattered into a credulity of two days, 
and by dint of great artifice and much persuasion will occa- 
sionally reach a third; but there, faith has its limit; and if 
nothing palpable, tangible, and real intervene, scepticism 
ensues ; and what with native sarcasm, ridicule, and irony, 
they will demolish the card edifice of credit far more rapidly 


THE MISSION TO THE NORTH/ 


241 


than ever they raised it. For two whole days the “ Army of 
the North” occupied every man amongst us. We toasted it 
over our wine ; we discussed it at our quarters ; we debated 
upon its whereabouts, its strength, and its probable destina- 
tion ; but on the third morning a terrible shock was given 
to our feelings by a volatile young lieutenant of hussars 
exclaiming, — 

“ Met foi! I wish I could see this same 4 Army of the 
North ’ ! ” 

Now, although nothing was more reasonable than this 
wish, nor was there any one of us who had not felt a similar 
desire, this sudden expression of it struck us all most forcibly ; 
and a shrinking sense of doubt spread over every face, and 
men looked at each other as though to say, “Is the fellow 
capable of supposing that such an army does not exist?” 
It was a very dreadful moment, — a terrible interval of 
struggle between the broad daylight of belief and the black 
darkness of incredulity; and we turned glances of actual 
dislike at the man who had so unwarrantably shaken our 
settled convictions. 

“ I only said I should like to see them under arms,” stam- 
mered he, in the confusion of one who saw himself exposed 
to public obloquy. 

This half apology came too late, — the mischief was done ; 
and we shunned each other like men who were afraid to read 
the accusation of even a shrewd glance. As for myself, I 
can compare my feelings only to those of the worthy aider- 
man who broke out into a paroxysm of grief on hearing 
that “Robinson Crusoe” was a fiction. I believe, on that 
sudden revulsion of feeling, I could have discredited any and 
everything. If there was no “ Army of the North,” was I 
quite sure that there was any expedition at all? Were the 
generals mere freebooters, the chiefs of a marauding venture ? 
Were the patriots anything but a disorderly rabble eager for 
robbery and bloodshed? Was Irish independence a mere 
phantom? Such were among the shocking terrors that came 
across my mind as I sat in my quarters, far too dispirited and 
depressed to mix among my comrades. 

It had been a day of fatiguing duty ; and I was not sorry, 
as night fell, that I might betake myself to bed, to forget, if 

16 


242 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


it might be, the torturing doubts that troubled me. Sud- 
denly I heard a heavy foot upon the stair, and an orderly 
entered with a command for me to repair to the headquarters 
of the general at once. Never did the call of duty summon 
me less willing, never found me so totally disinclined to obey. 
I was weary and fatigued ; but worse than this, I was out of 
temper with myself, the service, and the whole world. Had 
I heard that the Royal forces were approaching, I was ex- 
actly in the humor to have dashed into the thick of them, and 
sold my life as dearly as I could, out of desperation. 

Discipline is a powerful antagonist to a man’s caprices ; 
for with all my irritability and discontent I arose, and re- 
suming my uniform set out for General Humbert’s quarters. 
I followed “ the orderly,” as he led the way through many a 
dark street and crooked alley till we reached the square. 
There, too, all was in darkness, save at the mainguard, where 
as usual the five windows of the first story were a blaze of 
light, and the sounds of mirth and revelry, the nightly orgies 
of our officers, were ringing out in the stillness of the quiet 
hour. The wild chorus of a soldier-song, with its “ rantan- 
plan” accompaniment of knuckles on the table, echoed 
through the square, and smote upon my ear with anything 
but a congenial sense of pleasure. 

In my heart I thought them a senseless, soulless crew, 
that could give themselves to dissipation and excess on 
the very eve, as it were, of our defeat; and with hasty 
steps I turned away into the side street, where a large lamp, 
the only light to be seen, proclaimed General Humbert’s 
quarters. 

A bustle and stir, very unusual at this late hour, pervaded 
the passages and stairs, and it was some time before I could 
find one of the staff to announce my arrival, — which at last 
was done somewhat unceremoniously, as an officer hurried 
me through a large chamber crowded with the staff into an 
inner room, where on a small field-bed lay General Humbert, 
without coat or boots, a much-worn scarlet cloak thrown half 
over him, and a black handkerchief tied round his head. I 
had scarcely seen him since our landing, and I could with 
difficulty recognize the burly, high-complexioned soldier of 
a few days back in the worn and haggard features of the 


THE MISSION TO THE NORTH/ 


243 


sick man before me. An attack of ague, which he had 
originally contracted in Holland, had relapsed upon him, 
and he was now suffering all the lassitude and sickness of 
that most depressing of all maladies. 

Maps, books, plans, and sketches of various kinds scat- 
tered the bed, the table, and even the floor around him ; but 
his attitude as I entered betrayed the exhaustion of one who 
could labor no longer, and whose worn-out faculties demanded 
rest. He lay flat on his back, his arms straight down beside 
him, and, with half-closed eyes, seemed as though falling off 
to sleep. 

His first aide-de-camp, Merochamp, was standing with his 
back to a small turf fire, and made a sign to us to be still, 
and make no noise as we came in. 

“He’s sleeping,” said he; “it’s the first time he has 
closed his eyes for ten days.” 

We stood for a moment uncertain, and were about to 
retrace our steps, when Humbert said, in a low, weak 
voice, — 

“ No, I ’m not asleep ; come in.” 

The officer who presented me now retired, and I advanced 
towards the bedside. 

“This is Tiernay, General,” said Merochamp, stopping 
down and speaking low ; “ you wished to see him.” 

“ Yes, I wanted him. Ha! Tiernay, you see me a good 
deal altered since we parted last; however, I shall be all 
right in a day or two ; it ’s a mere attack of ague, and will 
leave when the good weather comes. I wished to ask you 
about your family, Tiernay ; was not your father Irish ? ” 

“No, sir; we were Irish two or three generations back, 
but since that we have belonged either to Austria or to 
France.” 

4 4 Then where were you born ? ” 

44 In Paris, sir, I believe, but certainly in France.” 

44 There I said so, Merochamp; I knew that the boy was 
French.” 

44 Still, I don’t think the precaution worthless,” replied 
Merochamp ; 44 Teeling and the others advise it.” 

44 1 know they do,” said Humbert, peevishly, “and for 
themselves it may be needful; but this lad’s case will be 


244 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


injured, not bettered by it. He is not an Irishman ; he never 
was at any time a British subject. Have you any certificate 
of birth or baptism, Tiernay? ” 

44 None, sir; but I have my livret for the School of 
Saumur, which sets forth my being a Frenchman by birth.” 

44 Quite sufficient, boy, let me have it.” 

It was a document which I always carried about with me 
since I landed, to enable me at any moment, if made pris- 
oner, to prove myself an alien, and thus escape the inculpa- 
tion of fighting against the flag of my country. Perhaps 
there was something of reluctance in my manner as I relin- 
quished it, for the general said, 44 I’ll take good care of it, 
Tiernay, you shall not fare the worse because it is in my 
keeping. I may as well tell you that some of our Irish offi- 
cers have received threatening letters, — it is needless to say 
they are without name, — stating that if matters go unfortu- 
nately with us in this campaign, they will meet the fate of 
men taken in open treason ; and that their condition of offi- 
cers in our service will avail them nothing. I do not believe 
this. I cannot believe that they will be treated in any 
respect differently from the rest of us. However, it is only 
just that I should tell you that your name figures amongst 
those so denounced ; for this reason I have sent for you now. 
You, at least, have nothing to apprehend on this score. You 
are as much a Frenchman as myself. I know Merochamp 
thinks differently from me, and that your Irish descent and 
name will be quite enough to involve you in the fate of 
others.” 

A gesture, half of assent but half of impatience, from the 
aide-de-camp here arrested the speaker. 

44 Why not tell him frankly how he stands? ” said Humbert, 
eagerly ; “I see no advantage in any concealment.” 

Then addressing me, he went on. “I purpose, Tiernay, 
to give you the same option I gave the others, but which 
they have declined to accept. It is this : we are daily ex- 
pecting to hear of the arrival of a force in the north under 
the command of Generals Tandy and Rey.” 

4 4 The 4 Army of the North’ ? ” asked I, in some anxiety. 

“Precisely; the Army of the North. Now, I desire to 
open a communication with them, and at the same time to 


THE MISSION TO THE NORTH.' 


245 


do so through the means of such officers as, in the event of 
any disaster here, may have the escape to France open to 
them which this army will have, and which, I need not say, 
we have no longer. Our Irish friends have declined this 
mission as being more likely to compromise them if taken, 
and also as diminishing and not increasing their chance of 
escape. In my belief that you were placed similarly I have 
sent for you here this evening, and at the same time desire 
to impress upon you that your acceptance or refusal is purely 
a matter at your own volition.” 

44 Am I to regard the matter simply as one of duty, sir, or 
as an opportunity of consulting my personal safety ? ” 

“ What shall I say to this, Merochamp?” asked Humbert, 
bluntly. 

4 4 That you are running to the full as many risks of being 
hanged for going as by staying ; such is my opinion,” said 
the aide-de-camp. 44 Here as a rebel, there as a spy.” . 

44 1 confess, then,” said I, smiling at the cool brevity of 
the speech, 44 the choice is somewhat embarrassing ! May I 
ask what you advise me to do, General?” 

44 1 should say go, Tiernay.” 

44 Go, by all means, lad,” broke in the aide-de-camp, who 
throughout assumed a tone of dictation and familiarity most 
remarkable. 44 If a stand is to be made in this miserable 
country it will be with Rey’s force ; here the game will not 
last much longer. There lies the only man capable of con- 
ducting such an expedition, and his health cannot stand up 
against its trials ! ” 

44 Not so, Merochamp; I’ll be on horseback to-morrow, 
or the day after at furthest ; and if I never were to take the 
field again, there are others, yourself amongst the number, 
well able to supply my place. But to Tiernay — what says 
he?” 

44 Make it duty, sir, and I shall go, or remain here with an 
easy conscience,” said I. 

44 Then duty be it, boy,” said he ; 44 and Merochamp will 
tell you everything, for all this discussion has wearied me 
much, and I cannot endure more talking.” 

44 Sit down here,” said the aide-de-camp, pointing to a 
seat at his side, 44 and five minutes will suffice.” 


246 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


He opened a large map of Ireland before us on the table, 
and running his finger along the coast-line of the western 
side, stopped abruptly at the bay of Lough Swilly. 

44 There,” said he, “ that is the spot. There, too, should 
have been our own landing. The whole population of the 
North will be with them, — not such allies as these fellows, 
but men accustomed to the use of arms, able and willing to 
take the field. They say that five thousand men could hold 
the passes of those mountains against thirty.” 

“Who says this?” said I, for I own that I had grown 
marvellously sceptical as to testimony. 

“ Napper Tandy, who is a general of division, and one of 
the leaders of this force;” and he went on: “The utmost 
we can do will be to hold these towns to the westward till 
they join us. We may stretch away thus far,” and he moved 
his finger towards the direction of Leitrim, 4 4 but no farther. 
You will have to communicate with them ; to explain what 
we have done, where we are, and how we are. Conceal 
nothing ; let them hear fairly that this patriot force is worth 
nothing, and that even to garrison the towns we take they 
are useless. Tell them, too, the sad mistake we made by 
attempting to organize what never can be disciplined, and 
let them not arm a population, as we have done, to commit 
rapine and plunder.” 

Two letters were already written, — one addressed to Rey, 
the other to Napper Tandy. These I was ordered to destroy 
if I should happen to become a prisoner ; and with the map 
of Ireland, pen-marked in various directions by which I 
might trace my route, and a few lines to Colonel Charost, 
whom I was to see on passing at Killala, I was dismissed. 
When I approached the bed-side to take leave of the general 
he was sound asleep. The excitement of talking having 
passed away, he was pale as death, and his lips totally 
colorless. Poor fellow ! he was exhausted-looking and 
weary ; and I could not help thinking, as I looked on 
him, that he was no bad emblem of the cause he had 
embarked in. 

I was to take my troop-horse as far as Killala, after which 
I was to proceed either on foot, or by such modes of con- 
veyance as I could find, keeping as nigh the coast as pos- 


THE MISSION TO THE NORTH . 3 


247 


sible, and acquainting myself, so far as I might do, with the 
temper and disposition of the people as I went. It was a 
great aid to my sinking courage to know that there really 
was an “ Army of the North,” and to feel myself accredited 
to hold intercourse with the generals commanding it. 

Such was my exultation at this happy discovery that I 
was dying to burst in amongst my comrades with the tidings, 
and proclaim at the same time my own high mission. Mero- 
champ had strictly enjoined my speedy departure without the 
slightest intimation to any whither I was going, or with what 
object. 

A very small cloak-bag held all my effects, and with' this 
slung at my saddle I rode out of the town just as the church 
clock was striking twelve. It was a calm, starlight night, 
and once a short distance from the town, as noiseless and 
still as possible ; a gossoon, one of the numerous scouts we 
employed in conveying letters or bringing intelligence, 
trotted along on foot beside me to show the way, for there 
was a rumor that some of the Royalist cavalry still loitered 
about the passes to capture our despatch bearers, or make 
prisoners of any stragglers from the army. 

These gossoons, picked up by chance, and selected for no 
other qualification than because they were keen-eyed and 
swift of foot, were the most faithful and most worthy 
creatures we met with. In no instance were they ever 
known to desert to the enemy, and, stranger still, they were 
never seen to mix in the debauchery and excesses so common 
to all the volunteers of the rebel camp. Their intelligence 
was considerable, and to such a pitch had emulation stimu- 
lated them in the service, that there was no danger they 
would not incur in their peculiar duties. 

My companion on the present occasion was a little fellow 
of about thirteen years of age, and small and slight even for 
that ; we knew him as Peter, but whether he had any other 
name, or what, I was ignorant. He was wounded by a 
sabre-cut across the hand, which nearly severed the fingers 
from it, at the bridge of Castlebar, but with a strip of linen 
bound round it now he trotted along as happy and careless 
as if nothing ailed him. 

I questioned him as we went, and learned that his father 
had been a herd in the service of a certain Sir Roger Palmer, 


248 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


and his mother a dairymaid in the same house ; but as the 
patriots had sacked and burned the Castle, of course they 
were now upon the world. He was a good deal shocked at 
my asking what part his father took on the occasion of the 
attack, but for a very different reason than that which I 
suspected. 

“For the cause, of course ! v replied he, almost indig- 
nantly ; ‘ ‘ why would n’t he stand up for ould Ireland ! ” 

“ And your mother — what did she do? ” 

He hung down his head, and made no answer till I 
repeated the question. 

“ Faix,” said he, slowly and sadly, u she went and towld 
the young ladies what was goin’ to be done ; and if it had n’t 
been that the boys caught Tim Hynes, the groom, going off 
to Foxford with a letter, we ’d have had the dragoons down 
upon us in no time ! They hanged Tim, but they let the 
young ladies away, and my mother with them, and off they 
all went to Dublin.” 

“ And where ’s your father now? ” I asked. 

“He was drowned in the bay of Killala four days ago. 
He went with a party of others to take oatmeal from a 
sloop that was wrecked in the bay, and an English cruiser 
came in at the time and fired on them; at the second 
discharge the wreck and all upon it went down ! ” 

He told all these things without any touch of sorrow in 
voice or manner. They seemed to be the ordinary chances 
of war, and so he took them. He had three brothers and 
a sister ; of the former two were missing, the third was a 
scout ; and the girl — she was but nine years old — was wait- 
ing on a canteen, and mighty handy, he said, for she knew 
a little French already, and understood the soldiers when 
they asked for a goutte , or wanted du feu for their pipes. 

Such, then, was the credit side of the account with For- 
tune, and, strange enough, the boy seemed satisfied with 
it ; and although a few days had made him an orphan and 
houseless, he appeared to feel that the great things in store 
for his country were an ample recompense for all. Was 
this, then, patriotism? Was it possible that one, untaught 
and unlettered as he was, could think national freedom cheap 
at such a cost? If I thought so for a moment, a very little 
further inquiry undeceived me. Religious rancor, party 


THE MISSION TO THE NORTH. 


249 


feuds, the hate of the Saxon, — a blind ill-directed, unthink- 
ing hate, — were the motives which actuated him. A terrible 
retribution for something upon somebody, an awful wiping 
out of old scores, a reversal of the lot of rich and poor, were 
the main incentives to his actions ; and he was satisfied to 
stand by at the drawing of this great lottery, even without 
holding a ticket in it! 

It was almost the first moment of calm reflective thought 
I had enjoyed, as I rode along thus in the quiet stillness of 
the night, and I own that my heart began to misgive me as 
to the ;great benefits of our expedition. I will not conceal 
the fact that I had been disappointed in every expectation I 
had formed of Ireland. 

The bleak and barren hills of Mayo, the dreary tracts of 
mountain and morass, were about as unworthy representa- 
tives of the boasted beauty and fertility of Ireland, as were 
the half-clad wretches who flocked around us of that warlike 
people of whom we had heard so much. Where were the 
chivalrous chieftains with their clans behind them? Where 
the thousands gathering around a national standard? Where 
that high-souled patriotism, content to risk fortune, station, 
— all, in the conflict for national independence ? A rabble 
led on by a few reckless debauchees, and two or three disre- 
putable or degraded priests, were our only allies ; and even 
these refused to be guided by our counsels or swayed by our 
authority. I half suspected Serasin was right when he said, 
“ Let the Directory send thirty thousand men and make it a 
French province ; but let us not fight an enemy to give the 
victory to the sans culottes 

As we neared the pass of Barnageeragh, I turned one last 
look on the town of Castlebar, around which, at little inter- 
vals of space, the watch-fires of our pickets were blazing ; 
all the rest of the place was in darkness. 

It was a strange and a thrilling thought to think that 
there, hundreds of miles from their home, without one link 
that could connect them to it, lay a little army in the midst 
of an enemy’s country, calm, self-possessed, and determined. 
How many, thought I, are destined to leave it? How many 
will bring back to our dear France the memory of this 
unhappy struggle? 


CHAPTER XXV. 


A PASSING VISIT TO KILLALA. 

I found a very pleasant party assembled around the bishop’s 
breakfast-table at Killala. The bishop and his family were 
all there, with Charost and his staff, and some three or four 
other officers from Ballina. Nothing could be less con- 
strained, more easy, or more agreeable than the tone of inti- 
macy which in a few days had grown up between them. A 
cordial good feeling seemed to prevail on every subject, and 
even the reserve which might be thought natural on the 
momentous events then happening was exchanged for a most 
candid and frank discussion of all that was going forward, 
which, I must own, astonished as much as it gratified me. 

The march on Castlebar, the choice of the mountain-road 
which led past the position occupied by the Royalists, the 
attack and capture of the artillery, had all to be related by 
me for the edification of such as were not conversant with 
French; and I could observe that however discomfited by 
the conduct of the militia, they fully relied on the regiments 
of the line and the artillery. It was amusing, too, to see 
with what pleasure they listened to all our disparagement of 
the Irish volunteers. 

Every instance we gave of insubordination or disobedience 
delighted them ; while our own blundering attempts to man- 
age the people, the absurd mistakes we fell into, and the 
endless misconceptions of their character and habits actually 
convulsed them with laughter. 

“ Of course,” said the bishop to us, “ you are prepared to 
hear that there is no love lost between you, and that they are 
to the full as dissatisfied with you as you are dissatisfied 
with them?” 


A PASSING VISIT TO KILLALA. 


251 


“Why, what can they complain of?” asked Charost, 
smiling ; “we gave them the place of honor in the very last 
engagement ! ” 

“ Very true, you did so, and they reaped all the profit of 
the situation. Monsieur Tiernay has just told the havoc 
that grape and round-shot scattered amongst the poor crea- 
tures. However, it is not of this they complain ; it is their 
miserable fare, the raw potatoes, their beds in open fields 
and highways, while the French, they say, eat of the best 
and sleep in blankets. They do not understand this inequal- 
ity, and perhaps it is somewhat hard to comprehend.” 

“ Patriotism ought to be proud of such little sacrifices,” 
said Charost, with an easy laugh; “besides, it is only a 
passing endurance : a month hence — less, perhaps — will 
see us dividing the spoils, and revelling in the conquest of 
Irish independence.” 

“You think so, colonel?” asked the bishop, half slyly. 

“ Parbleu! to be sure I do — and you? ” 

“I am just as sanguine,” said the bishop, “and fancy 
that about a month hence we shall be talking of all these 
things as matters of history, and while sorrowing over some 
of the unavoidable calamities of the event, preserving a 
grateful memory of some who came as enemies but left us 
warm friends.” 

“ If such is to be the turn of fortune,” said Charost, with 
more seriousness than before, “ I can only say that the 
kindly feelings will not be one-sided.” 

And now the conversation became an animated discussion 
on the chances of success or failure. Each party supported 
his opinion, ably and eagerly, and with a degree of freedom 
that was not a little singular to the bystanders. At last, 
when Charost was fairly answered by the bishop on every 
point, he asked, — 

“ But what say you to the Army of the North? ” 

“ Simply, that I do not believe in such a force,” rejoined 
the bishop. 

“Not believe it! not believe on what General Humbert 
relies at this moment, and to which that officer yonder is an 
accredited messenger ! When I tell you that a most distin- 
guished Irishman, Napper Tandy — ” 


252 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


44 Napper Tandy!” repeated the bishop, with a good* 
humored smile, 44 the name is quite enough to relieve one 
of any fears, if they ever felt them. I am not sufficiently 
acquainted with your language to give him the epithet he 
deserves, but if you can conceive an empty, conceited man, 
as ignorant of war as of politics, rushing into a revolution 
for the sake of a green uniform, and ready to convulse a 
kingdom that he may be called a major-general, only enthu- 
siastic in his personal vanity, and wanting even in that 
heroic daring which occasionally dignifies weak capacities, — 
such is Napper Tandy.” 

44 What in soldier-phrase we call a 4 Blague,’ ” said Charost, 
laughing ; 44 1 ’m sorry for it.” 

What turn the conversation was about to take I cannot 
guess, when it was suddenly interrupted by one of the 
bishop’s servants rushing into the room, with a face blood- 
less from terror. He made his way up to where the bishop 
sat, and whispered a few words in his ear. 

44 And how is the wind blowing, Andrew?” asked the 
bishop, in a voice that all his self-command could not com- 
pletely steady. 

“From the north, or the northwest, and mighty strong, 
too, my lord,” said the man, who trembled in every limb. 

The affrighted aspect of the messenger, the excited expres- 
sion of the bishop’s face, and the question as to the 
“wind” at once suggested to me the idea that a French 
fleet had arrived in the bay, and that the awful tidings 
were neither more nor less than the announcement of our 
reinforcement. 

44 From the northwest,” repeated the bishop ; 44 then, with 
God’s blessing, we may be spared.” And so saying, he 
arose from the table, and with an effort that showed that the 
strength to do so had only just returned to him. 44 Colonel 
Charost, a word with you ! ” said he, leading the way into an 
adjoining room. 

44 What is it ? — what has happened ? — what can it be ? ” 
was asked by each in turn. And now groups gathered at 
the windows, which all looked into the court of the building, 
now crowded with people, soldiers, servants, and country- 
folk, gazing earnestly towards the roof of the castle. 


A PASSING VISIT TO KILLALA. 


258 


“ What ’s the matter, Terry?” asked one of the bishop’s 
sons, as he threw open the window. 

“ ’T is the chimbley on fire, Master Robert,” said the man ; 
“ the kitchen chimbley, wid those divils of Frinch ! ” 

I cannot describe the burst of laughter that followed the 
explanation ! 

So much terror for so small a catastrophe was inconceiv- 
able ; and whether we thought of Andrew’s horrified face, or 
the worthy bishop’s pious thanksgiving as to the direction of 
the wind, we could scarcely refrain from another outbreak of 
mirth. Colonel Charost made his appearance at the instant, 
and although his step was hurried and his look severe, there 
was nothing of agitation or alarm on his features. 

“ Turn out the guard, Truchet, without arms,” said he. 
“ Come with me, Tiernay, — an awkward business enough,” 
whispered he, as he led me along. “ These fellows have set 
fire to the kitchen chimney, and we have three hundred 
barrels of gunpowder in the cave ! ” 

Nothing could be more easy and unaffected than the way 
he spoke this; and I actually stared at him, to see if his 
coolness was a mere pretence ; but far from it, — every 
gesture and every word showed the most perfect self- 
possession, with a prompt readiness for action. 

When we reached the court the bustle and confusion had 
reached its highest ; for, as the wind lulled, large masses of 
inky smoke hung like a canopy over head, through which a 
forked flame darted at intervals, with that peculiar furnace- 
like roar that accompanies a jet of fire in confined places. 
At times, too, as the soot ignited, great showers of bright 
sparks floated upwards, and afterwards fell like a fiery rain 
on every side. The country people, who had flocked in from 
the neighborhood, were entirely occupied with these signs, 
and only intent upon saving the remainder of the house, 
which they believed in great peril, totally unaware of the 
greater and more imminent danger close beside them. 

Already they had placed ladders against the walls, and 
with ropes and buckets were preparing to ascend, when 
Truchet marched in with his company, in fatigue-jackets, 
twenty sappers with shovels accompanying them. 

“Clear the court-yard, now,” said Charost, “and leave 
this matter to us.” 


254 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


The order was obeyed somewhat reluctantly, it is true, 
and at last we stood the sole occupants of the spot, — the 
bishop being the only civilian present, he having refused to 
quit the spot, unless compelled by force. 

The powder was stored in a long shed adjoining the 
stables, and originally used as a shelter for farming tools and 
utensils. A few tarpaulins we had carried with us from the 
ships were spread over the barrels, and on this now some 
sparks of fire had fallen, as the burning soot had been carried 
in by an eddy of wind. 

The first order was to deluge the tarpaulins with water ; 
and while this was being done, the sappers were ordered to 
dig trenches in the garden, to receive the barrels. Every 
man knew the terrible peril so near him, each felt that at 
any instant a frightful death might overtake him, and yet 
every detail of the duty was carried on with the coolest 
unconcern ; and when at last the time came to carry away 
the barrels, On a species of handbarrow, the fellows stepped 
in time, as if on the march, and moved in measure, — a 
degree of indifference which, to judge from the good bishop’s 
countenance, evidently inspired as many anxieties for their 
spiritual welfare as it suggested astonishment and admira- 
tion for their courage. He himself, it must be owned, dis- 
played no sign of trepidation, and in a few words he spoke, 
or the hints he dropped, exhibited every quality of a brave 
man. 

At moments the peril seemed very imminent indeed. 
Some timber having caught fire, slender fragments of burn- 
ing wood fell in masses, covering the men as they went, and 
falling on the barrels, whence the soldiers brushed them off 
with cool indifference. The dense, thick smoke, too, obscur- 
ing every object a few paces distant, added to the confusion ; 
and occasionally bringing the going and returning parties 
into collision, a loud shout, or cry, would ensue; and it is 
difficult to conceive how such a sound thrilled through the 
heart at such a time. I own that more than once I felt a 
choking fulness in the throat as I heard a sudden yell, it 
seemed so like a signal for destruction. In removing one of 
the last barrels from the hand-barrow it slipped, and falling 
to the ground the hoops gave way ; it burst open, and the 


A PASSING VISIT TO KILLALA. 


255 


powder fell out on every side. The moment was critical, for 
the wind was baffling, — now wafting the sparks clear away, 
now whirling them in eddies around us. It was then that an 
old sergeant of grenadiers threw off his upper coat and 
spread it over the broken cask, while, with all the composure 
of a man about to rest himself, he lay down on it, while his 
comrades went to fetch water. Of course his peril was no 
greater than that of every one around him ; but there was an 
air of quick determination in his act which showed the train- 
ing of an old soldier. 

At length the labor was ended, the last barrel was com- 
mitted to the earth, and the men, formed into line, were 
ordered to wheel and march. Never shall I forget the 
bishop’s face as they moved past. The undersized and 
youthful look of our soldiers had acquired for them a kind of 
depreciating estimate in comparison with the more mature 
and manly stature of the British soldier, to whom, indeed, 
they offered a strong contrast on parade ; but now, as they 
were seen in a moment of arduous duty, surrounded by 
danger, the steadiness and courage, the prompt obedience to 
every command, the alacrity of their movements, and the 
fearless intrepidity with which they performed every act 
impressed -the worthy bishop so forcibly, that he muttered 
half aloud, “Thank Heaven there are but few of them!” 

Colonel Charost resisted steadily the bishop’s proffer to 
afford the men some refreshment ; he would not even admit 
of an extra allowance of brandy to their messes. “If we 
become too liberal for slight services, we shall never be able 
to reward real ones,” was his answer ; and the bishop was 
reduced to the expedient of commemorating what he could 
not reward. This, indeed, he did with the most unqualified 
praise, — relating in the drawing-room all that he had wit- 
nessed, and lauding French valor and heroism to the very 
highest. 

The better to conceal my route, and to avoid the chances 
of being tracked, I sailed that evening in a fishing-boat for 
Killybegs, a small harbor on the coast of Donegal, having 
previously exchanged my uniform for the dress of a sailor, 
so that if apprehended I should pretend to be an Ostend or 


256 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


Antwerp seaman, washed overboard in a gale at sea. Fortu- 
nately for me, I was not called on to perform this part, for as 
my nautical experiences were of the very slightest, I should 
have made a deplorable attempt at the impersonation. 
Assuredly the fishermen of the smack would not have been 
among the number of the “ imposed upon,” for a more 
seasick wretch never masqueraded in a blue-jacket than 
I was. 

My only . clew when I touched land was a certain Father 
Doogan, who lived at the foot of the Bluerock Mountains, 
about fifteen miles from the coast, and to whom I brought a 
few lines from one of the Irish officers, a certain Bourke of 
Ballina. The road led in this direction, and so little inter- 
course had the shore folk with the interior that it was with 
difficulty any one could be found to act as a guide thither. 
At last an old fellow was discovered, who used to travel 
these mountains formerly with smuggled tobacco and tea; 
and although, from the discontinuance of the smuggling 
trade and increased age, he had for some years abandoned 
the line of business, a liberal offer of payment induced him 
to accompany me as guide. 

It was not without great misgivings that I looked at the 
very old and almost decrepit creature who was to be my 
companion through a solitary mountain region. 

The few stairs he had to mount in the little inn where I 
put up seemed a sore trial to his strength and chest ; but he 
assured me that once out of the smoke of the town, and 
with his foot on the “ short grass of the sheep-patch,” he’d 
be like a four-year-old ; and his neighbor having corroborated 
the assertion, I was fain to believe him. 

Determined, however, to make his excursion subservient 
to profit in his old vocation, he provided himself with some 
pounds of tobacco and a little parcel of silk handkerchiefs, 
to dispose of amongst the country-people, — with which, and 
a little bag of meal slung at his back, and a walking-stick in 
his hand, he presented himself at my door just as day was 
breaking. 

“We’ll have a wet day I fear, Jerry,” said I, looking 
out. 

“Not a bit of it,” replied he. 


“ ’T is the spring- tides 


A PASSING VISIT TO KILLALA. 


257 


makes it cloudy there beyant ; but when the sun gets up it 
will be a fine mornin’. But I’m thinkin’ ye’r strange in 
them parts ; ” and this he said with a keen, sharp glance under 
his eyes. 

“ Donegal is new to me, I confess,” said I, guardedly. 

u Yes, and the rest of Ireland, too,” said he, with a roguish 
leer. “ But come along, we ’ve a good step before us ; ” and 
with these words he led the way down the stairs, holding the 
balustrade as he went, and exhibiting every sign of age and 
weakness. Once in the street, however, he stepped out more 
freely, and before we got clear of the town, walked at a fair 
pace, and, to all seeming, with perfect ease. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


A REMNANT OF “ FONTENOY.” 

There was no resisting the inquisitive curiosity of my com- 
panion. The short dry cough, the little husky “ ay,” that 
sounded like anything rather than assent, which followed on 
my replies to his questions, and more than all the keen, 
oblique glances of his shrewd gray eyes told me that I had 
utterly failed in all my attempts at mystification, and that he 
read me through and through. 

“And so,” said he, at last, after a somewhat lengthy 
narrative of my shipwreck, “ and so the Flemish sailors wear 
spurs ? ” 

“Spurs! of course not; why should they?” asked I in 
some astonishment. 

“ Well, but don’t they? ” asked he again. 

“ No such thing ; it would be absurd to suppose it.” 

“ So I thought,” rejoined he ; “ and when I looked at yer 
honor’s boots [it was the first time he had addressed 
me by this title of deference], and saw the marks on the 
heels for spurs, I soon knew how much of a sailor you 
were.” 

“ And if not a sailor, what am I, then? ” asked I ; for in 
the loneliness of the mountain region where we walked, I 
could afford to throw off my disguise without risk. 

“ Ye ’r a French officer of dragoons, and God bless ye ! but 
ye ’r young to be at the trade. Ar’ n’t I right, now? ” 

“ Not very far from it, certainly, for I am a lieutenant of 
hussars,” said I, with a little of that pride which we of the 
loose pelisse always feel on the mention of our corps. 

“ I knew it well all along,” said he, coolly ; “ the way you 
stood in the room, your step as you walked, and, above all, 
how ye believed me when I spoke of the spring-tides, and 
the moon only in her second quarter, I saw you never was a 


A REMNANT OF “ FONTENOY.” 


259 


sailor, anyhow. And so I set a thinking what you were. 
You were too silent for a pedler, and your hands were too 
white to be in the smuggling trade ; but when I saw your 
boots, I had the secret at once, and knew ye were one of the 
French army that landed the other day at Killala.” 

44 It was stupid enough of me not to have remembered the 
boots ! ” said I, laughing. 

44 Arrah, what use would it be? ” replied he ; 44 sure ye ’r 
too straight in the back, and your walk is too regTar, and 
your toes turns in too much, for a sailor ; the very way you 
hould a switch in your hand would betray you ! ” 

44 So it seems, then, I must try some other disguise,” 
said I, 44 if I’m to keep company with people as shrewd as 
you are.” 

44 You needn’t,” said he, shaking his head doubtfully; 
44 any that wants to betray ye would n’t find it hard.” 

I was not much flattered by the depreciating tone in which 
he dismissed my efforts at personation, and walked on for 
some time without speaking. 

44 Yez came too late, four months too late,” said he, with 
a sorrowful gesture of the hands. 44 When the Wexford 
boys was up, and the Kildare chaps, and plenty more ready 
to come in from the North, then, indeed, a few thousand 
French down here in the West would have made a differ; 
but what ’s the good in it now ? The best men we had are 
hanged or in jail ; some are frightened ; more are traitors. 
’T is too late, too late ! ” 

44 But not too late for a large force landing in the North, 
to rouse the island to another effort for liberty.” 

44 Who would be the gin’ral? ” asked he, suddenly. 

44 Napper Tandy, your own countryman,” replied I, 
proudly. 

44 1 wish ye luck of him! ” said he, with a bitter laugh; 
“’tis more like mocking us than anything else the French 
does be, with the chaps they send here to be gin’rals. Sure 
it isn’t Napper Tandy, nor a set of young lawyers like Tone 
and the rest of them we wanted. It was men that knew 
how to drill and manage troops, — fellows that was used to 
fightin’ ; so that when they said a thing, we might believe 
that they understhood it at laste. I’m ould enough to 


260 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


remimber the ‘ Wild Geese,’ as they used to call them, — the 
fellows that ran away from this to take sarvice in France ; 
and I remimber, too, the sort of men the French were that 
came over to inspect them, — soldiers, real soldiers, every 
inch of them. And a fine sarvice it was. Volte-face ! ” 
cried he, holding himself erect, and shouldering his stick 
like a musket, “ marche ! Ha, ha! ye didn’t think that 
was in me ; but I was at the thrade long before you were 
born.” 

“ How is this? ” said I, in amazement ; “ you were not in 
the French army ? ” 

“Wasn’t I, though? Maybe I didn’t get that stick 
there ! ” And he bared his breast as he spoke, to show the 
cicatrix of an old flesh-wound from a Highlander’s bayonet. 
“ I was at Fontenoy ! ” 

The last few words he uttered with a triumphant pride 
that I shall never forget. As for me, the mere name was 
magical. “Fontenoy” was like one of those great words 
which light up a whole page of history ; and it almost seemed 
impossible that I should see before me a soldier of that 
glorious battle. 

“Ay, faith!” he added, “’tis more than fifty, ’tis nigh 
sixty years now since that, and I remember it as if it was 
yesterday. I was in the regiment Tourville ; I was recruited 
for the Dillon, but they scattered us about among the other 
corps afterwards, because we used now and then to be fight- 
ing and quarrellin’ among one another. Well, it was the 
Dillons that gained the battle ; for after the English was in 
the village of Fontenoy, and the. French was falling back 
upon the heights near the wood — arrah, what ’s the name of 
the wood? Sure, I’ll forget my own name next. Ay, to 
be sure, Verzon, — the Wood of Yerzon. Major Jodillon — 
that’s what the French called him, but his name was Joe 
Dillon — turned an eight-pounder short round into a little 
yard of a farm-house, and making a breach for the gun he 
opened a dreadful fire on the English column. It was loaded 
with grape, and at half-musket range; so you may think 
what a peppering they got. At last the column halted and 
lay down, and Joe seen an officer ride off to the rear to 
bring up artillery to silence our guns. A few minutes more 


A REMNANT 0 E “EONTENOY.' 


261 


and it would be all over with us. So Joe shouts out as loud 
as he could, 4 Cavalry, there ! tell off by threes, and prepare 
to charge ! ’ I need n’t tell you that the divil a horse nor a 
rider was within a mile of us at the time ; but the English 
did n’t know that ; and, bearin’ the order, up they jumps, and 
we heerd the word passin’, 4 Prepare to receive cavalry ! ’ 
They formed square at once, and the same minute we plumped 
into them with such a charge as tore a lane right through 
the middle of them. Before they could recover, we opened 
a platoon fire on their flank ; they staggered, broke, and at 
last fell back in disorder upon Aeth, with the whole of the 
French army after them. Such firin’ — grape, round-shot, 
and musketry — I never seed afore, and we all shouting like 
divils, for it was more like a hunt nor anything else ; for ye 
see the Dutch never came up, but left the English to do all 
the work themselves, and that’s the reason they couldn’t 
form, for they had no supportin’ colum’. 

44 It was then I got that stick of the bayonet, for there 
was such runnin’ that we only thought of pelting after them 
as hard as we could ; but ye see, there ’s nothin’ so treacherous 
as a Highlander. I was just behind one, and had my sword- 
point between his bladebones ready to run him through, when 
he turned short about, and run his bayonet into me under the 
short ribs ; and that was all I saw of the battle, for I bled till 
I fainted, and never knew more of what happened. ’T is n’t 
by way of making little of Frenchmen I say it, for I sarved 
too long wid them for that ; but sorra taste of that victory 
ever they ’d see if it was n’t for the Dillons, and Major Joe 
that commanded them ! The English knows it well, too ! 
Maybe they don’t do us many a spite for it to this very 
day!” 

44 And what became of you after that? *’ 

44 That same summer I came over to Scotland with the 
young Prince Charles, and was at the battle of Prestonpans 
afterwards ; and, what ’s worse, I was at Culloden ! Oh, that 
was the terrible day ! We were dead bate before we begaji 
the battle. We were on the march from one o’clock the 
night before, under the most dreadful rain ever ye seen ! 
We lost our way twice, and after four hours of hard march- 
ing we found ourselves opposite a mill-dam we crossed early 


262 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


that same morning ; for the guides led us all astray ! Then 
came ordhers to wheel about face and go back again ; and 
back we went, cursing the blaguards that deceaved us, and 
almost faintin’ with hunger. Some of us had nothing to eat 
for two days, and the Prince, I seen myself, had only a brown 
bannock to a wooden measure of whisky for his own break- 
fast. Well, it ’s no use talking ; we were bate, and we 
retreated to Inverness that night, and next morning we sur- 
rendered and laid down our arms, — that is the Regiment 
du Tournay and the Yoltigeurs de Metz, the corps I was 
in myself.” 

4 4 And did you return to France ? ” 

“ No ; I made my way back to Ireland, and after loiterin’ 
about home some time, and not liking the ways of turning to 
work again, I took sarvice with one Mister Brooke, of Castle 
Brooke, in Fermanagh, — a young man that was just come 
of age, and as great a divil, God forgive me, as ever was 
spawned. He was a Protestant, but he didn’t care much 
about one side or the other, but only wanted divarsion and 
his own fun out of the world ; and faix he took it, too ! He 
had plenty of money, was a fine man to look at, and had 
courage to face a lion ! 

44 The first place we went to was Aix-la-Chapelle, for Mr. 
Brooke was named something — I forget what — to Lord 
Sandwich, that was going there as an ambassador. It was 
a grand life there while it lasted. Such liveries, such 
coaches, such elegant dinners every day, I never saw even 
in Paris. But my master was soon sent away for a piece of 
wildness he did. There was an ould Austrian there, a 
Count Riedensegg was his name ; and he was always plottin’ 
and schamin’ with this, that, and the other, buy in’ up the 
sacrets of others, and gettin’ at their private papers one way 
or the other. And at last he begins to thry the same game 
with us ; and as he saw that Mr. Brooke was very fond of 
high play, and would bet anything one offered him, the ould 
count sends for a great gambler from Vienna, the greatest 
villain, they say, that ever touched a card. Ye may have 
heerd of him, tho’ ’t was long ago that he lived, for he was 
well known in them times. He was the Baron von Brecken- 
dorf, and a great friend afterwards of the Prince Ragint and 
all the other blaguards in London. 


A REMNANT OF “ FONTENOY ” 


263 


“Well, sir, the baron arrives in great state, with despatches, 
they said; but sorrow other despatch he carried nor some 
packs of marked cards, and a dice-box that could throw sixes 
whenever ye wanted ; and he puts up at the Grand Hotel, 
with all his servants in fine liveries and as much state as a 
prince. That very day Mr. Brooke dined with the count, 
and in the evening himself and the baron sits down to the 
cards ; and, pretending to be only playin’ for silver, they 
were bettin’ a hundred guineas on every game. 

4 4 I always heerd that my master was ’cute with the cards, 
and that few was equal to him in any game with pasteboard 
or ivory ; but, be my conscience, he met his match now, for 
if it was ould Nick was playin’ he couldn’t do the thrick 
nater nor the baron. He made everything come up just like 
magic ; if he wanted a seven of diamonds or an ace of 
spades or the knave of clubs, there it was for you. 

44 Most gentlemen would have lost temper at seein’ the 
luck so dead agin’ them, and everything goin’ so bad ; but 
my master only smiled, and kept muttering to himself, 
4 Faix, it ’s beautiful ! by my conscience, it ’s elegant ! I 
never saw anybody could do it like that.’ At last the baron 
stops and asks, 4 What is it he ’s saying to himself ? ’ 4 I ’ll 

tell you by and by,’ says my master, 4 when we ’re done play- 
ing ; ’ and so on they went, betting higher and higher, till at 
last the stakes was n’t very far from a thousand pounds on a 
single card. At the end, Mr. Brooke lost everything ; and 
in the last game, by way of generosity, the baron says to 
him, 4 Double or quit? ’ and he tuk it. 

44 This time luck stood to my master, and he turned the 
queen of hearts ; and as there was only one card could beat 
him, the game was all as one as his own. The baron takes 
up the pack, and begins to deal. 4 Wait,’ says my master, 
leaning over the table, and talking in a whisper ; 4 wait,’ says 
he ; 4 what are ye doin’ there wid your thumb ? ’ for sure 
enough he had his thumb dug hard into the middle of the 
pack. 

4 4 4 Do you mane to insult me?’ says the baron, getting 
mighty red, and throwing down the cards on the table. 4 Is 
that what you ’re at ? ’ 

4 4 4 Go on with the deal,’ says Mr. Brooke, quietly; 4 but 


264 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


listen to me,’ and here he dropped his voice to a whisper, 4 as 
sure as you turn the king of hearts I ’ll send a bullet through 
your skull ! Go on, now, and don’t rise from that seat till 
you’ve finished the game.’ Faix, he just did as he was bid ; 
he turned a little two or three of diamonds, and gettin’ up 
from the table he left the room, and the next morning there 
was no more seen of him in Aix-la-Chapelle. But that 
was n’t the end of it ; for scarce was the baron two posts 
on his journey when my master sends in his name, and says 
he wants to speak to Count Riedensegg. There was a long 
time and a great debatin’, I believe, whether they’d let him 
in or not, for the count could n’t make if it was mischief he 
was after ; but at last he was ushered into the bedroom where 
the other was in bed. 

44 4 Count,’ says he, after he fastened the door, and saw that 
they was alone, 4 Count, you tried a dirty thrick with that 
dirty spalpeen of a baron, — an ould blaguard that ’s as well 
known as Freeny the robber, — but I forgive you for it all, 
for you did it in the way of business. I know well what you 
was afther ; you wanted a peep at our despatches. There, 
ye need n’t look cross and angry ! Why would n’t ye do it, 
just as the baron always took a sly glance at my cards before 
he played his own? Well, now, I’m just in the humor to 
sarve you. They ’re not trating me as they ought here, and 
I ’m going away ; and if you ’ll give me a few letthers to 
some of the pretty women in Vienna, — Katinka Batthyani 
and Amalia Gradoffsky, and one or two men in the best set, 
— I ’ll send you in return something will surprise you.’ 

44 It was after a long time and great batin’ about the bush, 
that the ould count came in ; but the sight of a sacret cypher 
did the business, and he consented. 

4 4 4 There it is,’ says Mr. Brooke, 4 there’s the whole key 
to our correspondence ; study it well, and I ’ll bring you a 
sacret despatch in the evening, — something that will surprise 
you.’ 

4 4 4 Ye will, will ye? ’ says the count. 

4 4 4 On the honor of an Irish gentleman, I will,’ says Mr. 
Brooke. 

44 The count sits down on the spot and writes the letters 
to all the prencesses and countesses in Vienna, saying that 


A REMNANT OF “FONTENOY. 


265 


Mr. Brooke was the elegantest and politest and most trusty 
young gentleman ever he met ; and telling them to treat him 
with every consideration. 

“ ‘ There will be another account of me,’ says the master 
to me, ‘ by the post ; but I ’ll travel faster, and give me a 
fair start, and I ask no more.’ 

“And he was as good as his word, for he started that 
evening for Vienna without lave or license ; and that ’s the 
way he got dismissed from his situation.” 

“ And did he break his promise to the count, or did he 
really send him any intelligence ? ” 

“ He kept his word, like a gentleman. He promised him 
something that would surprise him, and so he did. He sent 
him the weddin’ of Ballyporeen in cypher. It took a week 
to make out, and I suppose they ’ve never got to the right 
understandin’ it yet.” 

“I’m curious to hear how he was received in Vienna, 
after this,” said I. “I suppose you accompanied him to 
that city ? ” 

“ Troth I did, and a short life we led there. But here we 
are now, at the end of our journey. That ’s Father Doogan’s 
down there, — that small, low, thatched house in the 
hollow.” 

“ A lonely spot, too. I don’t see another near it for miles 
on any side.” 

“Nor is there. His chapel is at Murrah, about three 
miles off. My eyes isn’t over good; but I don’t think 
there ’s any smoke coming out of the chimley.” 

“You are right ; there is not.” 

“ He ’s not at home, then, and that ’s a bad job for us ; for 
there ’s not another place to stop the night in.” 

“ But there will be surely some one in the house.” 

“ Most likely not; ’tis a brat of a boy from Murrah does 
be with him when he ’s at home, and I ’m sure he ’s not there 
now.” 

This reply was not very cheering, nor was the prospect 
itself much brighter. The solitary cabin, to which we were 
approaching, stood in a rugged glen, the sides of which were 
covered with a low furze, intermixed here and there with 
the scrub of what once had been an oak forest. A brown, 


266 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


mournful tint was over everything, sky and landscape alike ; 
and even the little stream of clear water that wound its twin- 
ing course along took the same color from the gravelly bed it 
flowed over. Not a cow nor sheep was to be seen, nor even 
a bird ; all was silent and still. 

“ There’s few would like to pass their lives down there, 
then ! ” said my companion, as if speaking to himself. 

‘ ‘ I suppose the priest, like a soldier, has no choice in these 
matters.” 

“ Sometimes he has, though. Father Doogan might have 
had the pick of the county, they say ; but he chose this little 
quiet spot here. He ’s a friar of some ordher abroad, and 
when he came over, two or three years ago, he could only 
spake a little Irish, and, I believe, less English; but there 
wasn’t his equal for other tongues in all Europe. They 
wanted him to stop and be the head of a college somewhere 
in Spain, but he would n’t. 4 There was work to do in Ire- 
land,’ he said, and there he ’d go, and to the wildest and 
laste civilized bit of it besides ; and ye see that he was not 
far out in his choice when he took Murrah.” 

“Is he much liked here by the people?” 

“ They ’d worship him if he ’d let them, that ’s what it is ; 
for if he has more lamin’ and knowledge in his head than 
ever a bishop in Ireland, there ’s not a child in the barony 
his equal for simplicity. He that knows the names of the 
stars and what they do be doing, and where the world’s 
going and what ’s cornin’ afther her, has n’t a thought for the 
wickedness of this life no more than a sucking infant ! He 
could tell you every crop to put in your ground from this to 
the day of judgment, and I don’t think he ’d know which end 
of the spade goes into the ground.” 

While we were thus talking, we reached the door, which, as 
well as the windows, was closely barred and fastened. The 
great padlock however on the former, with characteristic 
acuteness, was locked without being hasped ; so that in a few 
seconds my old guide had undone all the fastenings, and we 
found ourselves under shelter. 

A roomy kitchen, with a few cooking utensils, formed the 
entrance hall ; and as a small supply of turf stood in one 
corner, my companion at once proceeded to make a fire, con- 


A REMNANT OF “ FONTENOY.” 


267 


gratulating me as he went on with the fact of our being 
housed, for a long- threatening thunderstorm had already 
burst, and the rain was now swooping along in torrents. 

While he was thus busied, I took a ramble through the 
little cabin, curious to see something of the “interior” of 
one whose life had already interested me. There were but 
two small chambers, one at either side of the kitchen. The 
first I entered was a bedroom, — the only furniture being a 
common bed, or a tressel like that of a hospital, a little 
colored print of St. Michael adorning the wall overhead. 
The bed-covering was cleanly, but patched in many places 
and bespeaking much poverty, and the black soutane of silk 
that hung against the wall seemed to show long years of 
service. The few articles of any pretensions to comfort were 
found in the sitting-room, where a small book-shelf with 
some well-thumbed volumes, and a writing table covered 
with papers, maps, and a few pencil-drawings, appeared. 
All seemed as if he had just quitted the spot a few minutes 
before : the pencil lay across a half-finished sketch ; two or 
three wild plants were laid within the leaves of a little book 
on botany ; and a chess problem, with an open book beside 
it, still waited for solution on a little board, whose workman- 
ship clearly enough betrayed it to be by his own hands. 

I inspected everything with an interest inspired by all I 
had been hearing of the poor priest, and turned over the 
little volumes of his humble library to trace, if I might, some 
clew to his habits in his readings. They were all, however, 
of one cast and character, — religious tracts and offices, 
covered with annotations and remarks, and showing by many 
signs the most careful and frequent perusal. It was easy to 
see that his taste for drawing or for chess was the only 
dissipation he permitted himself to indulge. What a strange 
life of privation, thought I, alone and companionless as he 
must be ! and while speculating on the sense of duty which 
impelled such a man to accept a post so humble and unprom- 
ising, I perceived that on the wall right opposite to me 
there hung a picture, covered by a little curtain of green 
silk. 

Curious to behold the saintly effigy so carefully enshrined, 

I drew aside the curtain ; and what was my astonishment to 


268 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


find a little colored sketch of a boy about twelve years old, 
dressed in the tawdry and much- worn uniform of a drummer ! 
I started. Something flashed suddenly across my mind that 
the features, the dress, the air, were not unknown to me. 
Was I awake, or were my senses misleading me? I took it 
down and held it to the light, and as well as my trembling 
hands permitted I spelled out, at the foot of the drawing, the 
words, “ Le Petit Maurice, as I saw him last.” Yes ! it was my 
own portrait, and the words were in the writing of my dearest 
friend in the world, the Pere Michel ! Scarce knowing what 
I did, I ransacked books and papers on every side to confirm 
my suspicions ; and although his name was nowhere to be 
found, I had no difficulty in recognizing his hand, now so 
forcibly recalled to my memory. 

Hastening into the kitchen, I told my guide that I must 
set out to Murrah at once ; that it was above all important 
that I should see the priest immediately. It was in vain that 
he told me he was unequal to the fatigue of going farther, 
that the storm was increasing, the mountain torrents were 
swelling to a formidable size, that the path could not be dis- 
covered after dark ; I could not brook the thought of delay, 
and would not listen to the detail of difficulties. “I must 
see him and I will,” were my answers to every obstacle. If 
I were resolved on one side he was no less obstinate on the 
other ; and after explaining with patience all the dangers and 
hazards of the attempt, and still finding me unconvinced, he 
boldly declared that I might go alone if I would, but that 
he would not leave the shelter of a roof such a night for any 
one. 

There was nothing in the shape of an argument I did not 
essay. I tried bribery, I tried menace, flattery, intimidation, 
all, — and all with the like result. “ Wherever he is to-night, 
he ’ll not leave it, that ’s certain,” was the only satisfaction he 
would vouchsafe ; and I retired beaten from the contest, and 
disheartened. Twice I left the cottage, resolved to go alone 
and unaccompanied ; but the utter darkness of the night, the 
torrents of rain that beat against my face, soon showed me 
the impracticability of the attempt, and I retraced my steps 
crest-fallen and discomfited. The most intense curiosity to 
know how and by what chances the Pere had come to Ireland 


A KEMNANT OE “FONTENOYJ 


269 


mingled with my ardent desire to meet him. What stores 
of reminiscence had we to interchange ! Nor was it without 
pride that I bethought me of the position I then held, — an 
officer of a hussar regiment, a soldier of more than one 
campaign, and high on the list for promotion. If I hoped, 
too, that many of the good father’s prejudices against the 
career I followed would give way to the records of my own 
past life, I also felt how, in various respects, I had myself 
conformed to many of his notions. We should be dearer, 
closer friends than ever. This I knew and was sure of. 

I never slept the whole night through ; tired and weary as 
the day’s journey had left me, excitement was still too strong 
for repose, and I walked up and down, lay for half an hour on 
my bed, rose to look out, and peer for coming dawn. Never 
did hours lag so lazily. The darkness seemed to last for an 
eternity, and when at last day did break, it was through the 
lowering gloom of skies still charged with rain and an 
atmosphere loaded with vapor. 

“ This is a day for the chimney corner, and thankful to have 
it we ought to be,” said my old guide, as he replenished the 
turf fire, at which he was preparing our breakfast. “ Father 
Doogan will be home here afore night, I ’m sure ; and as we 
have nothing better to do, I ’ll tell you some of our old adven- 
tures when I lived with Mr. Brooke. ’T will sarve to pass 
the time, any way.” 

“I’m off to Murrah, as soon as I have eaten something,” 
replied I. 

“ ’T is little you know what a road it is,” said he, smiling 
dubiously. “ ’T is four mountain rivers you ’d have to cross, 
two of them, at least, deeper than your head ; and there ’s the 
pass of Barnascorney, where you ’d have to turn the side of a 
mountain, with a precipice hundreds of feet below you, and a 
wind blowing that would wreck a seventy-four! There’s 
never a man in the barony would venture over the same path, 
with a storm ragin’ from the nor’ west.” 

“ I never heard of a man being blown away off a mountain,” 
said I, laughing contemptuously. 

“ Arrah, did n’t ye, then? Then maybe ye never lived in 
parts where the heaviest ploughs and harrows that can be 
laid in the thatch of a cabin are flung here and there like 


270 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


straws, and the strongest timbers torn out of the walls, and 
scattered for miles along the coast like the spars of a 
shipwreck.” 

“ But so long as a man has hands to grip with — ” 

u How ye talk ! sure when the wind can tear the strongest 
trees up by the roots ; when it rolls big rocks fifty and a 
hundred feet out of their place ; when the very shingle on the 
mountain-side is flyin’ about like dust and sand, — where 
would your grip be ? It is not only on the mountains either, 
but down in the plains, ay, even in the narrowest glens, that 
the cattle lies down under shelter of the rocks ; and many ’s 
the time a sheep, or even a heifer, is swept away off the cliffs 
into the sea.” 

With many an anecdote of storm and hurricane he sea- 
soned our little meal of potatoes. Some curious enough, as 
illustrating the precautionary habits of a peasantry, who 
on land experience many of the vicissitudes supposed 
peculiar to the sea ; others too miraculous for easy credence, 
but yet vouched for by him with every affirmative of truth. 
He displayed all his powers of agreeability and amusement ; 
but his tales fell on unwilling ears, and when our meal was 
over I started up and began to prepare for the road. 

“ So you will go, will you? ” said he, peevishly. “ ’ T is in 
your country to be obstinate, so I ’ll say nothing more ; but 
maybe ’t is only into throubles you ’d be running, after all ! ” 

“I’m determined on it,” said I, “ and I only ask you to 
tell me what road to take.” 

“There is only one, so there is no mistakin’ it; keep to 
the sheep path, and never leave it except at the torrents, — 
you must pass them how ye can ; and when ye come to four 
big rocks in the plain, leave them to your left, and keep the 
side of the mountain for two miles, till ye see the smoke 
of the village underneath you. Murrah is a small place, 
and ye ’ll have to look out sharp, or maybe ye ’ll miss it.” 

“ That’s enough,” said I, putting some silver in his hand 
as I pressed it. “ We’ll probably meet no more; good-by, 
and many thanks for your pleasant company.” 

“ No, we’re not like to meet again,” said he, thoughtfully, 
“ and that’s the reason I’d like to give you a bit of advice. 
Hear me, now,” said he, drawing closer and talking in a 


A REMNANT OF “FONTENOY/ 


271 


whisper; “you can’t go far in this country without being 
known : ’t is n’t your looks alone, but your voice and your 
tongue will show what ye are. Get away out of it as fast 
as you can ! there ’s thraitors in every cause, and there ’s chaps 
in Ireland would rather make money as informers than earn 
it by honest industry ! Get over to the Scotch islands ; get 
to Isla or Barra ; get anywhere out of this for the time.” 

“ Thanks for the counsel,” said I, somewhat coldly, “I’ll 
have time to think over it as I go along ; ” and with these 
words I set forth on my journey. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


“the cranagh.” 

I will not weary my reader with a narrative of my mountain 
walk, nor the dangers and difficulties which beset me on that 
day of storm and hurricane. Few as were the miles to 
travel, what with accidents, mistakes of the path, and the 
halts to take shelter, I only reached Murrah as the day was 
declining. 

The little village, which consisted of some twenty cabins, 
occupied a narrow gorge between two mountains, and pre- 
sented an aspect of greater misery than I had ever witnessed 
before, not affording even the humblest specimen of a house 
of entertainment. From some peasants that were lounging 
in the street I learned that Father Doogan had passed 
through two days before in company with a naval officer, 
whom they believed to be French. At least ‘ ‘ he came from 
one of the ships in the Lough, and could speak no English.” 
Since that the priest had not returned, and many thought 
that he had gone away forever. This story, varied in a few 
unimportant particulars, I heard from several, and also 
learned that a squadron of several sail had for three or four 
days been lying at the entrance of Lough Swilly, with, it 
was said, large reinforcements for the “army of independ- 
ence.” There was then no time to be lost; here was the 
very force which I had been sent to communicate with ; there 
were the troops that should at that moment be disembarking. 
The success of my mission might all depend now on a little 
extra exertion, and so I at once engaged a guide to conduct 
me to the coast, and having fortified myself with a glass of 
mountain whiskey I felt ready for the road. 

My guide could only speak a very little English, so that 
our way was passed in almost unbroken silence ; and as, for 


“ THE CRANAGH” 


273 


security, he followed the least frequented paths, we scarcely 
met a living creature as we went. It was with a strange 
sense of half pride, half despondency, that I bethought me 
of my own position there, — a Frenchman alone, and sepa- 
rated from his countrymen, in a wild mountain region of Ire- 
land, carrying about him documents that, if detected, might 
peril his life ; involved in a cause that had for its object the 
independence of a nation, and that against the power of the 
mightiest kingdom in Europe. An hour earlier or later, an 
accident by the way, a swollen torrent, a chance impediment 
of any kind that should delay me, — and what a change 
might that produce in the whole destiny of the world ! 

The despatches I carried conveyed instructions the most 
precise and accurate ; the places for combined action of the 
two armies, information as to the actual state of parties, and 
the condition of the native forces was contained in them. 
All that could instruct the newly-come generals or encourage 
them to decisive measures was there ; and yet on what narrow 
contingencies did their safe arrival depend ! It was thus in 
exaggerating to myself the part I played, in elevating my 
humble position into all the importance of a high trust, that 
I sustained my drooping spirits and acquired energy to carry 
me through fatigue and exhaustion. 

During that night and the greater part of the following 
day we walked on almost without halt, scarcely eating, and, 
except by an occasional glass of whiskey, totally un- 
freshed ; and I am free to own that my poor guide — a bare- 
legged youth of about seventeen, without any of those high 
sustaining illusions which stirred within my heart — suffered 
far less either from hunger or weariness than I did. So 
much for motives. A shilling or two were sufficient to 
equalize the balance against all the weight of my heroism 
and patriotic ardor together. 

A bright sun and a sharp wind from the north had suc- 
ceeded to the lowering sky and heavy atmosphere of the 
morning, and we travelled along with light hearts and brisk 
steps, breasting the side of a steep ascent, from the summit 
of which, my guide told me, I should behold the sea, — the 
sea ! not only the great plain on which I expected to see our 
armament, but the link which bound me to my country! 

18 


274 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


Suddenly, just as I turned the angle of a cliff, it burst upon 
my sight, — one vast mirror of golden splendor, appearing 
almost at my feet ! In the yellow gleams of a setting sun, 
long columns of azure-colored light streaked its calm sur- 
face, and tinged the atmosphere with a warm and rosy hue. 
While I was lost in admiration of the picture, I heard the 
sound of voices close beneath me, and, on looking down, 
saw two figures, who, with telescope in hand, were steadily 
gazing on a little bay that extended towards the west. 

At first, my attention was more occupied by the strangers 
than by the object of their curiosity ; and I remarked that 
they were dressed and equipped like sportsmen, their guns 
and game-bags lying against the rock behind them. 

4 4 Do you still think that they are hovering about the 
coast, Tom?” said the elder of the two, 44 or are you not 
convinced, at last, that I am right?” 

44 1 believe you are,” replied the other; 44 but it certainly 
did not look like it yesterday evening, with their boats row- 
ing ashore every half hour, signals flying, and blue lights 
burning ; all seemed to threaten a landing.” 

4 4 If they ever thought of it they soon changed their 
minds,” said the former. 44 The defeat of their comrades in 
the west and the apathy of the peasantry here would have 
cooled down warmer ardor than theirs. There they go, 
Tom. I only hope that they ’ll fall in with Warren’s squad- 
ron, and French insolence receive at sea the lesson we failed 
to give them on land.” 

44 Not so,” rejoined the younger ; 44 Humbert’s capitulation 
and the total break up of the expedition ought to satisfy 
even your patriotism.” 

44 It fell far short of it then!” cried the other. 44 I’d 
never have treated those fellows other than as bandits and 
freebooters. I ’d have hanged them as highwaymen. Theirs 
was less war than rapine ; but what could you expect ? I 
have been assured that Humbert’s force consisted of little 
other than liberated felons and galley-slaves, — the refuse of 
the worst population of Europe ! ” 

Distracted with the terrible tidings I had overheard, over- 
whelmed with the sight of the ships now glistening like bright 
specks on the verge of the horizon, I forgot my own position, 


"THE CRANAGH.” 275 

my safety, everything but the insult thus cast upon my 
gallant comrades. 

“Whoever said so was a liar, and a base coward to 
boot ! ” cried I, springing down from the height and con- 
fronting them both where they stood. They started back, 
and seizing their guns assumed an attitude of defence ; and 
then quickly perceiving that I was alone, — for the boy had 
taken to flight as fast as he could, — they stood regarding 
me with faces of intense astonishment. 

“ Yes,” said I, still boiling with passion, “you are two 
to one, on your own soil besides, the odds you are best used 
to ; and yet I repeat it that he who asperses the character of 
General Humbert’s force is a liar.” 

“ He ’s French.” 

“ No, he’s Irish,” muttered the elder. 

“ What signifies my country, sirs,” cried I, passionately, 
“ if I demand retraction for a falsehood? ” 

“It signifies more than you think of, young man,” said 
the elder, calmly, and without evincing even the slightest 
irritation in his manner. “ If you be a Frenchman born, the 
lenity of our government accords you the privilege of a 
prisoner of war. If you be only French by adoption, and a 
uniform, a harsher destiny awaits you.” 

“And who says I am a prisoner yet?” asked I, drawing 
myself up, and staring them steadily in the face. 

“We should be worse men and poorer patriots than you 
give us credit for, or we should be able to make you so,” 
said he, quietly ; “ but this is no time for ill- temper on either 
side. The expedition has failed. Well, if you will not 
believe me, read that. There, in that paper you will see the 
official account of General Humbert’s surrender at Boyle. 
The news is already over the length and breadth of the 
island ; even if you only landed last night, I cannot conceive 
how you should be ignorant of it ! ” I covered my face with 
my hands to hide my emotion ; and he went on : “If you be 
French, you have only to claim and prove your nationality, 
and you partake the fortunes of your countrymen.” 

“ And if he be not,” whispered the other, in a voice 
which, although low, I could still detect, “why should we 
give him up?” 


276 


MAURICE TIERUAY. 


“ Hush, Tom, be quiet,” replied the elder, “ let him plead 
for himself.” 

“ Let me see the newspaper,” said I, endeavoring to seem 
calm and collected ; and taking it at the place he pointed 
out, I read the heading in capitals, “ Capitulation of Gen- 
eral Humbert and his whole Force.” I could see no 
more. I could not trace the details of so horrible a disaster, 
nor did I ask to know by what means it occurred. My 
attitude and air of apparent occupation, however, deceived 
the other ; and the elder, supposing that I was engaged in 
considering the paragraph, said, “You’ll see the govern- 
ment proclamation on the other side, — a general amnesty to 
all under the rank of officers in the rebel army, who give up 
their arms within six days. The French to be treated as 
prisoners of war.” 

“Is he too late to regain the fleet?” whispered the 
younger. 

“ Of course he is. They are already hull down ; besides, 
who’s to assist his escape, Tom? You forget the position 
he stands in.” 

“ But I do not forget it,” answered I, “ and you need not 
be afraid that I will seek to compromise you, gentlemen. 
Tell me where to find the nearest justice of the peace, and I 
will go and surrender myself.” 

“It is your wisest and best policy,” said the elder; “I 
am not in the commission, but a neighbor of mine is, and 
lives a few miles off, and if you like we ’ll accompany you to 
his house.” 

I accepted the offer, and soon found myself descending 
the steep path of the mountain in perfect good fellowship 
with the two strangers. It is likely enough if they had 
taken any peculiar pains to obliterate the memory of our 
first meeting, or if they had displayed any extraordinary 
efforts of conciliation, that I should have been on my guard 
against them ; but their manners, on the contrary, were 
easy and unaffected in every respect. They spoke of the 
expedition sensibly and dispassionately ; and while acknow- 
ledging that there were many things they would like to 
see altered in the English rule of Ireland, they were very 
averse from the desire of a foreign intervention to rectify 
them. 


“THE CRANAGH. 


277 


I avowed to them that we had been grossly deceived; 
that all the representations made to us depicted Ireland as 
a nation of soldiers, wanting only arms and military stores 
to rise as a vast army ; that the peasantry were animated 
by one spirit, and the majority of the gentry willing to 
hazard everything on the issue of a struggle. Our Killala 
experiences, of which I detailed some, heartily amused them, 
and it was in a merry interchange of opinions that we now 
walked along together. 

A cluster of houses, too small to be called a village and 
known as the 44 Cranagh,” stood in a little nook of the bay; 
and here they lived. They were brothers ; and the elder 
held some small appointment in the revenue, which main- 
tained them as bachelors in this cheap country. In a low 
conversation that passed between them it was agreed that 
they would detain me as their guest for that evening, and on 
the morrow accompany me to the magistrate’s house, about 
five miles distant. I was not sorry to accept their hospitable 
offer ; I longed for a few hours of rest and respite before 
embarking on another sea of troubles. The failure of the 
expedition and the departure of the fleet had overwhelmed 
me with grief, and I was in no mood to confront new 
perils. 

If my new acquaintances could have read my inmost 
thoughts, their manner towards me could not have displayed 
more kindness or good-breeding. Not pressing me with 
questions on subjects where the greatest curiosity would have 
been permissible, they suffered me to tell only so much as I 
wished of our late plans, and as if purposely to withdraw 
my thoughts from the unhappy theme of our defeat led me to 
talk of France, and her career in Europe. 

It was not without surprise that I saw how conversant the 
newspapers had made them with European politics, nor how 
widely different did events appear when viewed from afar off 
and by the lights of another and different nationality. Thus 
all that we were doing on the Continent to propagate liberal 
notions, and promote the spread of freedom, seemed to their 
eyes but the efforts of an ambitious power to crush abroad 
what they had annihilated at home, and extend their own 
influence in disseminating doctrines, all to revert, one day or 


278 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


other, to some grand despotism, whenever the man arose 
capable to exercise it. The elder would not even concede to 
us that we were fit for freedom. 

“You are glorious fellows at destroying an old edifice,” 
said he, “but sorry architects when comes the question of 
rebuilding ; and as to liberty, your highest notion of it is an 
occasional anarchy. Like schoolboys, you will bear any 
tyranny for ten years, to have ten days of a ‘ barring out * 
afterward.” 

I was not much flattered by these opinions ; and, what was 
worse, I could not get them out of my head all night after- 
wards. Many things I had never doubted about now kept 
puzzling and confounding me, and I began for the first time 
to know the misery of the struggle between implicit obedience 
and conviction. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 

I went to bed at night in all apparent health : save from the 
flurry and excitement of an anxious mind, I was in no respect 
different from my usual mood ; and yet when I awoke next 
morning, my head was distracted with a racking pain, cramps 
were in all my limbs, and I could not turn or even move 
without intense suffering. The long exposure to rain, while 
my mind was in a condition of extreme excitement, had 
brought on an attack of fever, and before evening set in I 
was raving in wild delirium. Every scene I had passed 
through, each eventful incident of my life, came flashing in 
disjointed portions through my poor brain ; and I raved away 
of France, of Germany, of the dreadful days of Terror, and 
the fearful orgies of the Revolution. Scenes of strife and 
struggle, the terrible conflicts of the streets, all rose before 
me ; and the names of every bloodstained hero of France now 
mingled with the obscure titles of Irish insurrection. 

What narratives of my early life I may have given, what 
stories I may have revealed of my strange career, I cannot 
tell ; but the interest my kind hosts took in me grew stronger 
every day. There was no care or kindness they did not 
lavish on me. Taking alternate nights to sit up with me, 
they watched beside my bed like brothers. All that affection 
could give they rendered me ; and even from their narrow 
fortunes they paid a physician, who came from a distant town 
to visit me. When I was sufficiently recovered to leave my 
bed and sit at the window, or stroll slowly in the garden, I 
became aware of the full extent to which their kindness had 
carried them, and in the precautions for secrecy I saw the 
peril to which my presence exposed them. From an excess 
of delicacy towards me they did not allude to the subject, 


280 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


nor show the slightest uneasiness about the matter ; but day 
by day some little circumstance would occur, some slight and 
trivial fact reveal the state of anxiety they lived in. 

They were averse, too, from all discussion of late events, 
and either answered my questions vaguely or with a certain 
reserve ; and when I hinted at my hope of being soon able to 
appear before a magistrate and establish my claim as a 
French citizen, they replied that the moment was an 
unfavorable one; that the lenity of the government had 
latterly been abused, their gracious intentions misstated and 
perverted ; that, in fact, a reaction towards severity had 
occurred, and military law and courts-martial were summarily 
disposing of cases that a short time back would have 
received the mildest sentences of civil tribunals. It was 
clear, from all they said, that if the rebellion was suppressed, 
the insurrectionary feeling was not extinguished, and that 
England was the very reverse of tranquil on the subject of 
Ireland. 

It was to no purpose that I repeated my personal indiffer- 
ence to all these measures of severity ; that in my capacity 
as a Frenchman and an officer I stood exempt from all the 
consequences they alluded to. Their reply was that in times 
of trouble and alarm things were done which quieter periods 
would never have sanctioned, and that indiscreet and over- 
zealous men would venture on acts that neither law nor 
justice could substantiate. In fact, they gave me to believe 
that such was the excitement of the moment, such the 
embittered vengeance of those whose families or fortunes had 
suffered by the rebellion, that no reprisals would be thought 
too heavy, nor any harshness too great, for those who aided 
the movement. 

Whatever I might have said against the injustice of this 
proceeding, in my secret heart I had to confess . that it was 
only what might have been expected; and coming from a 
country where it was enough to call a man an aristocrat, 
and then cry a la lanterne , I saw nothing unreasonable in 
it all. 

My friends advised me, therefore, instead of preferring any 
formal claim to immunity, to take the first occasion of 
escaping to America, whence I could not fail, later on, of 


SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 


281 


returning to France. At first, the counsel only irritated me, 
but by degrees, as I came to think more calmly and seriously 
of the difficulties, I began to regard it in a different light ; 
and at last I fully concurred in the wisdom of the advice, and 
resolved on adopting it. 

To sit on the cliffs and watch the ocean for hours became 
now the practice of my life, — to gaze from daybreak almost 
to the falling of night over the wide expanse of sea, straining 
my eyes at each sail, and conjecturing to what distant shore 
they were tending. The hopes which at first sustained at 
last deserted me, as week after week passed over, and no 
prospect of escape appeared. The life of inactivity gradually 
depressed my spirits, and I fell into a low and moping con- 
dition, in which my hours rolled over without thought or 
notice. Still, I returned each day to my accustomed spot, — 
a lofty peak of rock that stood over the sea, and from which 
the view extended for miles on every side. There, half hid 
in the wild heath, I used to lie for hours long, my eyes bent 
upon the sea, but my thoughts wandering away to a past 
that never was to be renewed, and a future I was never 
destined to experience. 

Although late in the autumn, the season was mild and 
genial, and the sea calm and waveless save along the shore, 
where, even in the stillest weather, the great breakers came 
tumbling in with a force independent of storm ; and listen- 
ing to their booming thunder, I have dreamed away hour 
after hour unconsciously. 

It was one day, as I lay thus, that my attention was caught 
by the sight of three large vessels on the very verge of the 
horizon. Habit had now given me a certain acuteness, and I 
could perceive from their height and size that they were ships 
of war. For a while they seemed as if steering for the 
entrance of the “ lough,” but afterwards they changed their 
course, and headed towards the west. At length they sepa- 
rated, and one of smaller size, and probably a frigate from 
her speed, shot forward beyond the rest, and in less than half 
an hour disappeared from view. The other two gradually sunk 
beneath the horizon, and not a sail was to be seen over the 
wide expanse. While speculating on what errand the squad- 
ron might be employed, I thought I could hear the deep and 


282 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


rolling sound of distant cannonading. My ear was too 
practised in the thundering crash of the breakers along shore 
to confound the noises ; and as I listened I fancied that I 
could distinguish the sound of single guns from the louder 
roar of a whole broadside. This could not mean salut- 
ing, nor was it likely to be a mere exercise of the fleet. They 
were not times when much powder was expended unprofit- 
ably. Was it then an engagement? But with what or 
whom? Tandy’s expedition, as it was called, had long since 
sailed, and must ere this have been captured or safe in 
France. I tried a hundred conjectures to explain the 
mystery, which now, from the long continuance of the 
sounds, seemed to denote a desperately contested engage- 
ment. It was not till after three hours that the cannonad- 
ing ceased, and then I could descry a thick dark canopy of 
smoke that hung hazily over one spot in the horizon, as if 
marking out the scene of the struggle. With what aching, 
torturing anxiety I burned to know what had happened, and 
with which side rested the victory ! 

Well habituated to hear of the English as victors in eve,ry 
naval engagement, I yet went on hoping against hope itself, 
that Fortune might for once have favored us ; nor was it 
till the falling night prevented my being able to trace out 
distant objects, that I could leave the spot and turn home- 
wards. With wishes so directly opposed to theirs, I did not 
venture to tell my two friends what I had witnessed, nor 
trust myself to speak on a subject where my feelings might 
have betrayed me into unseemly expressions of my hopes. I 
was glad to find that they knew nothing of the matter, and 
talked away indifferently of other subjects. By daybreak the 
next morning I was at my post, a sharp nor’wester blowing, 
and a heavy sea rolling in from the Atlantic. Instinctively 
carrying my eyes to the spot where I had heard the cannon- 
ade, I could distinctly see the tops of spars, as if the upper 
rigging of some vessels, beyond the horizon. Gradually they 
rose higher and higher, till I could detect the yard-arms and 
cross-trees, and finally the great hulls of five vessels that 
were bearing towards me. 

For above an hour I could see their every movement, as 
with all canvas spread they held on majestically towards the 


SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 


283 


land, when at length a lofty promontory of the bay intervened, 
and they were lost to my view. I jumped to my legs at once, 
and set off down the cliff to reach the headland, from whence 
an uninterrupted prospect extended. The distance was greater 
than I had supposed, and in my eagerness to take a direct line 
to it I got entangled in difficult gorges among the hills, and 
was impeded by mountain torrents which often compelled me 
to go back a considerable distance ; it was already late in the 
afternoon as I gained the crest of a ridge over the Bay of 
Lough Swilly. Beneath me lay the calm surface of the lough, 
landlocked and still ; but further out seaward there was a 
sight that made my very limbs tremble, and sickened my 
heart as I beheld it. There was a large frigate, that, with 
studding-sails set, stood boldly up the bay, followed by a 
dismasted three-decker, at whose mizzen floated the ensign of 
England over the French tricolor. Several other vessels were 
grouped about the offing, all of them displaying English colors. 

The dreadful secret was out. There had been a tremend- 
ous sea-fight, and the “ Hoche,” of seventy-four guns, was the 
sad spectacle which, with shattered sides and ragged rigging, 
I now beheld entering the bay. Oh the humiliation of that 
sight ! I can never forget it. And although on all the sur- 
rounding hills scarcely fifty country-people were assembled, I 
felt as if the whole of Europe were spectators of our defeat. 
The flag I had always believed triumphant now hung igno- 
miniously beneath the ensign of the enemy, and the decks of 
our noble ship were crowded with the uniforms of English 
sailors and marines. 

.The blue water surged and spouted from the shot-holes as 
the great hull loomed heavily from side to side, and broken 
spars and ropes still hung over the side as she went, a 
perfect picture of defeat. Never was disaster more legibly 
written. I watched her till the anchor dropped, and then in 
a burst of emotion I turned away, unable to endure more. 
As I hastened homeward I met the elder of my two hosts 
coming to meet me, in considerable anxiety. He had heard 
of the capture of the “ Hoche,” but his mind was far more 
intent on another and less important event. Two men had 
just been at his cottage with a warrant for my arrest. The 
document bore my name and rank, as well as a description 


284 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


of my appearance, and significantly alleged, that, although 
Irish by birth, I affected a foreign accent for the sake of 
concealment. 

“There is no chance of escape, now,” said my friend; 
“we are surrounded with spies on every hand. My advice 
is, therefore, to hasten to Lord Cavan’s quarters — he is now 
at Letterkenny — and give yourself up as a prisoner. There 
is at least the chance of your being treated like the rest of 
your countrymen. I have already provided you with a horse 
and a guide, for I must not accompany you myself. Go, 
then, Maurice. We shall never see each other again; but 
we ’ll not forget you, nor do we fear that you will forget us. 
My brother could not trust himself to take leave of you, but 
his best wishes and prayers go with you.” 

Such were the last words my kind-hearted friend spoke 
to me ; nor do I know what reply I made, as overcome by 
emotion, my voice became thick and broken. I wanted to 
tell all my gratitude, and yet could say nothing. To this 
hour I know not with what impression of me he went away. 
I can only assert, that, in all the long career of vicissitudes 
of a troubled and adventurous life, these brothers have 
occupied the chosen spot of my affection for everything that 
was disinterested in kindness and generous in good feeling. 
They have done more ; for they have often reconciled me to 
a world of harsh injustice and illiberality, by remembering 
that two such exceptions existed, and that others may have 
experienced what fell to my lot. 

For a mile or two my way lay through the mountains, but 
after reaching the high road I had not proceeded far when I 
was overtaken by a jaunting-car, on which a gentleman was 
seated, with his leg supported by a cushion and bearing all 
the signs of a severe injury. 

“ Keep the near side of the way, sir, I beg of you,” cried 
he ; “I have a broken leg, and am excessively uneasy when 
a horse passes close to me.” 

I touched my cap in salute, and immediately turned my 
horse’s head to comply with his request. 

“Did you see that, George?” cried another gentleman, 
who sat on the opposite side of the vehicle ; “ did you remark 
that fellow’s salute? My life on ’t, he ’s a French soldier.” 


SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 


285 


“Nonsense, man; he’s the steward of a Clyde smack, or 
a clerk in a counting-house,” said the first, in a voice which, 
though purposely low, my quick hearing could catch 
perfectly. 

“Are we far from Letterkenny just now, sir?” said the 
other, addressing me. 

“I believe about five miles,” said I, with a prodigious 
effort to make my pronunciation pass muster. 

“You’re a stranger in these parts, I see, sir,” rejoined 
he, with a cunning glance at his friend, while he added, 
lower, “Was I right, Hill?” 

Although seeing that all concealment was now hopeless, 
I was in nowise disposed to plead guilty at once, and there- 
fore, with a cut of my switch, pushed my beast into a sharp 
canter to get forward. 

My friends, however, gave chase, and now the jaunting- 
car, notwithstanding the sufferings of the invalid, was clat- 
tering after me at about nine miles an hour. At first I 
rather enjoyed the malice of the penalty their curiosity was 
costing ; but as I remembered that the invalid was not the 
chief offender, I began to feel compunction at the severity 
of the lesson, and drew up to a walk. 

They at once shortened their pace, and came up beside 
me. 

“A olever hack you’re riding, sir,” said the inquisitive 
man. 

“ Not so bad for an animal of this country,” said I, super- 
ciliously. 

“Oh, then, what kind of ahorse are you accustomed to?” 
asked he, half insolently. 

“ The Limousin,” said I, coolly, “ what we always mount 
in our hussar regiments in France.” 

“ And you are a French soldier, then?” cried he, in evident 
astonishment at my frankness. 

“ At your service, sir,” said I, saluting ; “a lieutenant of 
hussars ; and if you are tormented by any further curiosity 
concerning me, I may as well relieve you by stating that I 
am proceeding to Lord Cavan’s headquarters to surrender as 
a prisoner.” 

“ Frank enough, that! ” said he of the broken leg, laugh- 


286 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


ing heartily as he spoke. “ Well, sir,” said the other, “you 
are, as your countrymen would call it, bien venu , for we are 
bound in that direction ourselves, and will be happy to have 
your company.” 

One piece of tact my worldly experience had profoundly 
impressed upon me, and that was the necessity of always 
assuming an air of easy unconcern in every circumstance of 
doubtful issue. There was quite enough of difficulty in the 
present case to excite my anxiety, but I rode along beside 
the jaunting-car, chatting familiarly with my new acquaint- 
ances, and, I believe, without exhibiting the slightest degree 
of uneasiness regarding my own position. 

From them I learned so much as they had heard of the 
late naval engagement. The report was that Bompard’s fleet 
had fallen in with Sir John Warren’s squadron ; and having 
given orders for his fastest sailers to make the best of their 
way to France, had, with the “ Hoche,” the “ Loire,” and the 
“ Resolve,” given battle to the enemy. These had all been 
captured, as well as four others which fled, two alone of the 
whole succeeding in their escape. I think now that, grievous 
as these tidings were, there was nothing of either boastful- 
ness or insolence in the tone in which they were communi- 
cated to me. Every praise was accorded to Bompard for 
skill and bravery, and the defence was spoken of in terms of 
generous eulogy. The only trait of acrimony that showed 
itself in the recital was a regret that a number of Irish rebels 
should have escaped in the “ Biche,” one of the smaller 
frigates, and several emissaries of the people, who had been 
deputed to the admiral, were also alleged to have been on 
board of that vessel. 

“You are sorry to have missed your friend the priest of 
Murrah?” said Hill, jocularly. 

“Yes, by George, that fellow should have graced a gal- 
lows if I had been lucky enough to have taken him.” 

“What was his crime, sir?” asked I, with seeming 
unconcern. 

“Nothing more than exciting to rebellion a people with 
whom he had no tie of blood or kindred ! He was a French- 
man, and devoted himself to the cause of Ireland, as they 
call it, from pure sympathy — ” 


SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 


28 T 


“ And a dash of Popery,” broke in Hill. 

“It’s hard to say even that; my own opinion is that 
French Jacobinism cares very little for the Pope. Am I 
right, young gentleman — you don’t go very often to 
confession ? ” 

“ I should do so less frequently if I were to be subjected 
to such a system of interrogatory as yours,” said I, tartly. 

They both took my impertinent speech in good part, and 
laughed heartily at it ; and thus, half amicably, half in ear- 
nest, we entered the little town of Letterkenny, just as night 
was falling. 

“If you’ll be our guest for this evening, sir,” said Hill, 
“we shall be happy to have your company.” 

I accepted the invitation, and followed them into the inn. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


“ THE BREAKFAST AT LETTERKENNY.” 

Early the next morning, a messenger arrived from the 
Cranagh with a small packet of my clothes and effects, and 
a farewell letter from the two brothers. I had but time to 
glance over its contents when the tramp of feet and the buzz 
of voices in the street attracted me to the window, and on 
looking out I saw a long line of men, two abreast, who were 
marching along as prisoners, a party of dismounted dragoons 
keeping guard over them on either side, followed by a strong 
detachment of marines. The poor fellows looked sad and 
crestfallen enough. Many of them wore bandages on their 
heads and limbs, the tokens of the late struggle. Imme- 
diately in front of the inn door stood a group of about thirty 
persons ; they were the staff of the English force and the 
officers of our fleet, all mingled together, and talking away 
with the greatest air of unconcern. I was struck by remark- 
ing that all our seamen, though prisoners, saluted the officers 
as they passed, and in the glances interchanged I thought I 
could read a world of sympathy and encouragement. As for 
the officers, like true Frenchmen, they bore themselves as 
though it were one of the inevitable chances of war, and, 
however vexatious for the moment, not to be thought of as 
an event of much importance. The greater number of them 
belonged to the army, and I could see the uniforms of the 
staff, artillery and dragoons, as well as the less distinguished 
costume of the line. 

Perhaps they carried the affectation of indifference a little 
too far, and in the lounging ease of their attitude and the 
cool unconcern with which they puffed their cigars displayed 
an over-anxiety to seem unconcerned. That the English 
were piqued at their bearing was still more plain to see ; and, 


THE BREAKFAST AT LETTERKENNY. ; 


289 


indeed, in the sullen looks of the one, and the careless gayety 
of the other party, a stranger might readily have mistaken 
the captor for the captive. 

My two friends of the evening before were in the midst of 
the group. He who had questioned me so sharply now wore 
a general officer’s uniform, and seemed to be the chief in 
command. As I watched him I heard him addressed by an 
officer, and now saw that he was no other than Lord Cavan 
himself, while the other was a well-known magistrate and 
country gentleman, Sir George Hill. 

The sad procession took almost half an hour to defile ; and 
then came a long string of country cars and carts, with sea- 
chests and other stores belonging to our officers, and, last of 
all, some eight or ten ammunition wagons and gun-carriages, 
over which an English union-jack now floated in token of 
conquest. 

There was nothing like exultation or triumph exhibited by 
the peasantry as this pageant passed. They gazed in silent 
wonderment at the scene, and looked like men who scarcely 
knew whether the result boded more of good or evil to their 
own fortunes. While keenly scrutinizing the looks and 
bearing of the bystanders, I received a summons to meet the 
general and his party at breakfast. 

Although the occurrence was one of the most pleasurable 
incidents of my life which brought me once more into inter- 
course with my comrades and my countrymen, I should 
perhaps pass it over with slight mention were it not that it 
made me witness to a scene which has since been recorded 
in various different ways, but of whose exact details I profess 
to be an accurate narrator. 

After making a tour of the room, saluting my comrades, 
answering questions here, putting others there, I took my 
place at the long table, which, running the whole length of 
the apartment, was indiscriminately occupied by French and 
English, and found myself with my back to the fireplace, 
and having directly in front of me a man of about thirty- 
three or thirty-four years of age, dressed in the uniform of 
a chef de brigade. Light-haired and blue-eyed, he bore no 
resemblance whatever to those around him, whose dark faces 
and black beards proclaimed them of a foreign origin. 

19 


290 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


There was an air of mildness in his manner, mingled with a 
certain impetuosity that betrayed itself in the rapid glances 
of his eye ; and I could plainly mark that while the rest were 
perfectly at their ease, he was constrained, restless, watch- 
ing eagerly everything that went forward about him, and 
showing unmistakably a certain anxiety and distrust, widely 
differing from the gay and careless indifference of his com- 
rades. I was curious to hear his name, and on asking, 
learned that he was the chef de brigade Smith, an Irish- 
man by birth, but holding a command in the French 
service. 

I had but asked the question, when pushing back his chair 
from the table he arose suddenly, and stood stiff and erect, 
like a soldier on parade. 

“Well, sir, I hope you are satisfied with your inspection 
of me,” cried he, and sternly addressing himself to some one 
behind my back. I turned and perceived it was Sir George 
Hill, who stood in front of the fire leaning on his stick. 
Whether he replied or not to this rude speech I am unable 
to say, but the other walked leisurely round the table and 
came directly in front of him. “ You know me now, sir, I 
presume,” said he, in the same imperious voice, “ or else 
this uniform has made a greater change in my appearance 
than I knew of.” 

“ Mr. Tone ! ” said Sir George, in a voice, scarcely above 
a whisper. 

“ Ay, sir, Wolfe Tone ; there is no need of secrecy here, 
— Wolfe Tone, your old college acquaintance in former 
times, but now chef de brigade in the service of France.” 

“This is a very unexpected, a very unhappy, meeting, 
Mr. Tone,” said Hill, feelingly; “I sincerely wish you had 
not recalled the memory of our past acquaintance. My duty 
gives me no alternative.” 

“ Your duty, or I mistake much, can have no concern with 
me, sir,” cried Tone, in a more excited voice. 

“ I ask for nothing better than to be sure of this, Mr. 
Tone,” said Sir George, moving slowly towards the door. 

“ You would treat me like an emigre rentref cried Tone, 
passionately, “but I am a French subject and a French 
officer ! ” 


“ THE BREAKFAST AT LETTERKENNY” 291 

“ I shall be well satisfied if others take the same view of 
your case, I assure you,” said Hill, as he gained the door. 

“You 'll not find me unprepared for either event, sir,” 
rejoined Tone, following him out of the room, and banging 
the door angrily behind him. 

For a moment or two the noise of voices was heard from 
without, and several of the guests, English and French, 
rose from the table, eagerly inquiring what had occurred, 
and asking for an explanation of the scene, when suddenly 
the door was flung wide open, and Tone appeared between 
two policemen, his coat off, and his wrists enclosed in 
handcuffs. 

“Look here, comrades,” he cried in French; “this is 
another specimen of English politeness and hospitality. 
After all,” added he, with a bitter laugh, “ they have no 
designation in all their heraldry as honorable as these fetters, 
when worn for the cause of freedom! Good-by, com- 
rades ; we may never meet again, but don’t forget how we 
parted ! ” 

These were the last words he uttered, when the door was 
closed and he was led forward under charge of a strong 
force of police and military. A postchaise was soon seen to 
pass the windows at speed, escorted by dragoons, and we 
saw no more of our comrade. 

The incident passed even more rapidly than I write it. 
The few words spoken, the hurried gestures, the passionate 
exclamations, are yet all deeply graven on my memory ; and 
I can recall every little incident of the scene, and every fea- 
ture of the locality wherein it occurred. With true French 
levity many reseated themselves at the breakfast- table ; 
whilst others, with perhaps as little feeling, but more of 
curiosity, discussed the event, and sought for an explana- 
tion of its meaning. 

“Then what’s to become of Tiernay,” cried one, “if it 
be so hard to throw off this 4 coil of Englishmen ’ ? His 
position may be just as precarious.” 

“ That is exactly what has occurred,” said Lord Cavan, 
“ a warrant for his apprehension has just been put into my 
hands, and I deeply regret that the duty should violate that 
of hospitality, and make my guest my prisoner.” 


292 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ May I see this warrant, my lord?” asked I. 

‘‘Certainly, sir. Here it is; and here is the informa- 
tion on oath through which it was issued, sworn to before 
three justices of the peace by a certain Joseph Dowall, 
late an officer in the rebel forces, but now a pardoned 
approver of the Crown; do you remember such a man, 
sir? ” 

I bowed, and he went on. 

“He would seem a precious rascal; but such characters 
become indispensable in times like these. After all, M. 
Tiernay, my orders are only to transmit you to Dublin 
under safe escort, and there is nothing either in my duty or 
in your position to occasion any feeling of unpleasantness 
between us. Let us have a glass of wine together.” 

I responded to this civil proposition with politeness ; and 
after a slight interchange of leave-takings with some of my 
newly-found comrades, I set out for Derry on a jaunting- 
car accompanied by an officer and two policemen, affecting 
to think very little of a circumstance which in reality, the 
more I reflected over it, the more serious I deemed it. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


SCENE IN THE ROYAL BARRACKS. 

It would afford me little pleasure to write, and doubtless my 
readers less to read, my lucubrations as I journeyed along 
towards Dublin. My thoughts seldom turned from myself 
and my own fortunes, nor were they cheered by the scene 
through which I travelled. The season was a backward 
and wet one, and the fields, partly from this cause and partly 
from the people being engaged in the late struggle, lay un- 
tilled and neglected. Groups of idle, lounging peasants 
stood in the villages, or loitered on the high-roads as we 
passed, sad, ragged-looking, and wretched. They seemed 
as if they had no heart to resume their wonted life of labor, 
but were waiting for some calamity to close their miserable 
existence. Strongly in contrast with this were the air and 
bearing of the yeomanry and militia detachments with whom 
we occasionally came up. Quite forgetting how little credit- 
able to some of them, at least, were the events of the late 
campaign, they gave themselves the most intolerable airs 
of heroism, and in their drunken jollity and reckless aban- 
donment threatened, I know not what, — utter ruin to 
France and all Frenchmen. Bonaparte was the great mark 
of all their sarcasms, and, from some cause or other, seemed 
to enjoy a most disproportioned share of their dislike and 
derision. 

At first it required some effort of constraint on my part to 
listen to this ribaldry in silence ; but prudence and a little 
sense taught me the safer lesson of “never minding,” and 
so I affected to understand nothing that was said in a spirit 
of insult or offence. 

On the night of the 7th of November we drew nigh to 
Dublin ; but instead of entering the capital, we halted at a 


294 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


small village outside of it called Chapelizod. Here a house 
had been fitted up for the reception of French prisoners, and 
I found myself, if not in company, at least under the same 
roof, with my countrymen. 

Nearer intercourse than this, however, I was not destined 
to enjoy ; for early on the following morning I was ordered 
to set out for the Royal Barracks, to be tried before a court- 
martial. It was on a cold, raw morning, with a thin, drizzly 
rain falling, that we drove into the barrack-yard, and drew 
up at the mess-room, then used for the purposes of a court. 
As yet none of the members had assembled, and two or three 
mess-waiters were engaged in removing the signs of last 
night’s debauch, and restoring a semblance of decorum to a 
very rackety-looking apartment. The walls were scrawled 
over with absurd caricatures, in charcoal or ink, of notorious 
characters of the capital, and a very striking “ battle-piece” 
commemorated the “ Races of Castlebar,” as that memorable 
action was called, in a spirit, I am bound to say, of little 
flattery to the British arms. There were, to be sure, little 
compensatory illustrations here and there of French cav- 
alry in Egypt, mounted on donkeys, or revolutionary troops 
on parade, ragged as scarecrows and ill-looking as highway- 
men ; but a most liberal justice characterized all these fres- 
cos, and they treated both Trojan and Tyrian alike. 

I had abundant time given me to admire them ; for although 
summoned for seven o’clock, it was nine before the first offi- 
cer of the court-martial made his appearance, and he having 
popped in his head, and perceiving the room empty, saun- 
tered out again and disappeared. At last a very noisy 
jaunting-car rattled into the square, and a short, red-faced 
man was assisted down from it, and entered the mess-room. 
This was Mr. Peters, the Deputy Judge Advocate, whose 
presence was the immediate signal for the others, who now 
came dropping in from every side, — the President, a Colonel 
Daly, arriving the last. 

A few tradespeople, loungers it seemed to me of the bar- 
racks, and some half-dozen non-commissioned officers off 
duty made up the public ; and I could not but feel a sense 
of my insignificance in the utter absence of interest my fate 
excited. The listless indolence and informality, too, offended 


SCENE IN THE ROYAL BARRACKS. 


295 


and insulted me ; and when the President politely told me to 
be seated, for they were obliged to wait for some books or 
papers left behind at his quarters, I actually was indignant 
at his coolness. 

As we thus waited, the officers gathered round the fire- 
place, chatting and laughing pleasantly together, discussing 
the social events of the capital and the gossip of the day, — 
everything, in fact, but the case of the individual on whose 
future fate they were about to decide. 

At length the long-expected books made their appearance, 
and a few well-thumbed volumes were spread over the table, 
behind which the court took their places, Colonel Daly in 
the centre, with the judge upon his left. 

The members being sworn, the Judge Advocate arose, and 
in a hurried, humdrum kind of voice read out what pur- 
ported to be the commission under which I was to be tried, — 
the charge being, whether I had or had not acted treache- 
rously and hostilely to his Majesty, whose natural-born 
subject I was, being born in that kingdom, and consequently 
owing to him all allegiance and fidelity. 

44 Guilty or not guilty, sir? ” 

“The charge is a falsehood; I am a Frenchman,” was 
my answer. 

44 Have respect for the Court, sir,” said Peters ; 44 you mean 
that you are a French officer, but by birth an Irishman.” 

4 4 I mean no such thing ; that I am French by birth as I 
am in feeling ; that I never saw Ireland till within a few 
months back, and heartily wish I had never seen it.” 

“So would General Humbert, too, perhaps,” said Daly, 
laughing ; and the court seemed to relish the jest. 

“ Where were you born, then, Tiernay?” 

“ In Paris, I believe.” 

“ And your mother’s name, what was it? ” 

‘ 4 1 never knew ; I was left an orphan when a mere infant, 
and can tell little of my family.” 

44 Your father was Irish, then?” 

4 4 Only by descent. I have heard that we came from a 
family who bore the title of 4 Timmahoo,’ — Lord Tiernay 
of Timmahoo.” 

44 There was such a title,” interposed Peters ; 44 it was one 


296 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


of King James’s last creations after his flight from the Boyne. 
Some, indeed, assert that it was conferred before the battle. 
What a strange coincidence, to find the descendant, if he be 
such, laboring in something like the same cause as his 
ancestor ! ” 

“What’s your rank, sir?” asked a sharp, severe-looking 
man, called Major Flood. 

“ First Lieutenant of Hussars.” 

“ And is it usual for a boy of your years to hold that rank, 
or was there anything peculiar in your case that obtained 
the promotion?” 

“ I served in two campaigns, and gained my grade 
regularly.” 

“Your Irish blood, then, had no share in your advance- 
ment?” asked he again. 

“lama Frenchman, as I said before,” was my answer. 

“ A Frenchman, who lays claim to an Irish estate and 
an Irish title,” replied Flood. “Let us hear Dowall’s 
statement.” 

And now, to my utter confusion, a man made his way to 
the table, and, taking the book from the Judge Advocate, 
kissed it in token of an oath. 

“Inform the court of anything you know in connection 
with the prisoner,” said the judge. 

And the fellow, not daring even to look towards me, began 
a long, rambling, unconnected narrative of his first meeting 
with me at Killala, affecting that a close intimacy had sub- 
sisted between us, and that in the faith of a confidence I had 
told him how, being an Irishman by birth, I had joined the 
expedition in the hope that with the expulsion of the Eng- 
lish I should be able to re-establish my claim to my family 
rank and fortune. There was little coherence in his story, 
and more than one discrepant statement occurred in it ; but 
the fellow’s natural stupidity imparted a wonderful air of 
truth to the narrative, and I was surprised how naturally it 
sounded even to my own ears, little circumstances of truth 
being interspersed through the recital, as though to season 
the falsehood into a semblance of fact. 

“What have you to reply to this, Tiernay?” asked the 
colonel. 


SCENE IN THE ROYAL BARRACKS. 


297 


“ Simply, sir, that such a witness, were his assertions even 
more consistent and probable, is utterly unworthy of credit. 
This fellow was one of the greatest marauders of the rebel 
army ; and the last exercise of authority I ever witnessed by 
General Humbert was an order to drive him out of the town 
of Castlebar.” 

“ Is this the notorious Town Major Dowall?” asked an 
officer of artillery. 

“ The same, sir.” 

“ I can answer, then, for his being one of the greatest 
rascals unhanged,” rejoined he. 

“ This is all very irregular, gentlemen,” interposed the 
Judge Advocate; “ the character of a witness cannot be 
impugned by what is mere desultory conversation. Let 
Dowall withdraw.” 

The man retired, and now a whispered conversation was 
kept up at the table for about a quarter of an hour, in which 
I could distinctly separate those who befriended from those 
who opposed me, — the major being the chief of the latter 
party. One speech of his which I overheard made a slight 
impression on me, and for the first time suggested uneasiness 
regarding the event. 

“ Whatever you do with this lad must have an immense 
influence on Tone’s trial. Don’t forget that if you acquit 
him, you’ll be sorely puzzled to convict the other.” 

The colonel promptly overruled this unjust suggestion, and 
maintained that in my accent, manner, and appearance there 
was every evidence of my French origin. 

“Let Wolfe Tone stand upon his own merits,” said he, 
“but let us not mix this case with his.” 

“I’d have treated every man who landed to a rope,” 
exclaimed the major, “ Humbert himself among the rest. 
It was pure 4 brigandage,’ and nothing less.” 

“ I hope if I escape, sir, that it will never be my fortune 
to see you a prisoner of France,” said I, forgetting all in my 
indignation. 

“ If my voice have any influence, young man, that oppor- 
tunity is not likely to occur to you,” was the reply. 

This ungenerous speech found no sympathy with the rest, 
and I soon saw that the major represented a small minority 
in the court. 


298 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


The want of my commission, or of any document suitable 
to my rank or position in the service, was a great drawback ; 
for I had given all my papers to Humbert, and had nothing 
to substantiate my account of myself. I saw how unfavor- 
ably this acknowledgment was taken by the court ; and 
when I was ordered to withdraw that they might deliberate, 
I own that I felt great misgivings as to the result. 

The deliberation was a long, and, as I could overhear, a 
strongly disputed one. Dowall was twice called in for 
examination, and when he retired on the last occasion the 
discussion grew almost stormy. 

As I stood thus awaiting my fate, the public, now removed 
from the court, pressed eagerly to look at me ; and while 
some thronged the doorway, and even pressed against the 
sentry, others crowded at the window to peep in. Among 
these faces, over which my eye ranged in half vacancy, one 
face struck me for the expression of sincere sympathy and 
interest it bore. It was that of a middle-aged man of an 
humble walk in life, whose dress bespoke him from the coun- 
try. There was nothing in his appearance to have called 
for attention or notice, and at any other time I should have 
passed him over without remark ; but now, as his features 
betokened a feeling almost verging on anxiety, I could not 
regard him without interest. 

Whichever way my eyes turned, however my thoughts 
might take me off, whenever I looked towards him I was 
sure to find his gaze steadily bent upon me, and with an 
expression quite distinct from mere curiosity. At last came 
the summons for me to re-appear before the court, and the 
crowd opened to let me pass in. 

The noise, the anxiety of the moment, and the move- 
ment of the people confused me at first; and when I re- 
covered self-possession, I found that the Judge Advocate 
was reciting the charge under which I was tried. There 
were three distinct counts, on each of which the court pro- 
nounced me “Not Guilty,” but at the same time qualifying 
the finding by the additional words, u by a majority of two,” 
thus showing me that my escape had been a narrow one. 

“As a prisoner of war,” said the President, “ you will now 
receive the same treatment as your comrades of the same 


SCENE IN THE ROYAL BARRACKS. 


299 


rank. Some have been already exchanged, and some have 
given bail for their appearance to answer any future charges 
against them.” 

“ I am quite ready, sir, to accept my freedom on parole,” 
said I ; “ of course, in a country where I am an utter stranger 
bail is out of the question.” 

“I’m willing to bail him, your worship ; I ’ll take it on me 
to be surety for him,” cried a coarse, husky voice from the 
body of the court; and at the same time a man dressed in a 
great coat of dark frieze pressed through the crowd and 
approached the table. 

“And who are you, my good fellow, so ready to impose 
yourself on the court?” asked Peters. 

“ I ’m a farmer of eighty acres of land, from the Black 
Pits, near Baldoyle; and the adjutant there, Mr. Moore, 
knows me well.” 

“ Yes,” said the adjutant, “ I have known you some years 
as supplying forage to the cavalry, and always heard you 
spoken of as honest and trustworthy.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Moore ; that ’s as much as I want.” 

“ Yes, but it’s not as much as we want, my worthy man,” 
said Peters ; “we require to know that you are a solvent and 
respectable person.” 

“ Come out and see my place, then ; ride over the land and 
look at my stock ; ask my neighbors my character ; find out 
if there ’s anything against me.” 

“ We prefer to leave all that trouble on your shoulders,” 
said Peters ; “ show us that we may accept your surety, and 
we ’ll entertain the question at once.” 

“ How much is it?” asked he, eagerly. 

“We demanded five hundred pounds for a major on the 
staff; suppose we say two, colonel, is that sufficient?” asked 
Peters of the President. 

“ I should say quite enough,” was the reply. 

“ There ’s eighty of it, anyway,” said the farmer, producing 
a dirty roll of bank notes, and throwing them on the table ; 

‘ ‘ I got them from Mr. Murphy in Smithfield this morning, 
and I ’ll get twice as much more from him for asking ; so if 
your honors will wait till I come back, I’ll not be twenty 
minutes away.” 


300 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ But we can’t take your money, my man; we have no 
right to touch it.” 

“Then what are ye talking about two hundred pounds 
for?” asked he, sternly. 

“We want your promise to pay in the event of this bail 
being broken.” 

“ Oh, I see, it’s all the same thing in the end ; I’ll do it 
either way.” 

“ We ’ll accept Mr. Murphy’s guarantee for your solvency,” 
said Peters; “obtain that, and you can sign the bond at 
once.” 

“Faith, I’ll get it, sure enough, and be here before 
you’ve the writing drawn out,” said he, buttoning up his 
coat. 

“ What name are we to insert in the bond? ” 

“ Tiernay, sir.” 

“ That’s the prisoner’s name, but we want yours.” 

“Mine’s Tiernay, too, sir; Pat Tiernay of the Black 
Pits.” 

Before I could recover from my surprise at this announce- 
ment he had left the court, which in a few minutes afterwards 
broke up, a clerk alone remaining to fill up the necessary 
documents and complete the bail-bond. 

The colonel, as well as two others of his officers, pressed 
me to join them at breakfast; but I declined, resolving to 
wait for my namesake’s return, and partake of no other 
hospitality than his. 

It was near one o’clock when he returned, almost worn 
out with fatigue, since he had been in pursuit of Mr. 
Murphy for several hours, and only came upon him by 
chance at last. His business, however, he had fully accom- 
plished ; the bail-bond was duly drawn out and signed, and 
I left the barrack in a state of happiness very different from 
the feeling with which I had entered it that day. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


A BRIEF CHANGE OF LIFE AND COUNTRY. 

My new acquaintance never ceased to congratulate himself 
on what he called the lucky accident that had led him to the 
barracks that morning, and thus brought about our meeting. 
“ Little as you think of me, my dear,” said he, “ I’m one of 
the Tiernays of Timmahoo myself ; faix, until I saw you, I 
thought I was the last of them ! There are eight generations 
of us in the churchyard at Kells, and I was looking to the 
time when they ’d lay my bones there as the last of the race ; 
but I see there’s better fortune before us.” 

“But you have a family, I hope?” 

“Sorrow one belonging to me. I might have married 
when I was young ; but there was a pride in me to look for 
something higher than I had any right, except from blood I 
mean, for a better stock than our own is n’t to be found ; 
and that ’s the way years went over and I lost the oppor- 
tunity, and here I am now an old bachelor, without one to 
stand to me, barrin’ it be yourself.” 

The last words were uttered with a tremulous emotion, 
and on turning towards him I saw his eyes swimming with 
tears, and perceived that some strong feeling was working 
within him. 

“You can’t suppose I can ever forget what I owe you, 
Mr. Tiernay ! ” 

“ Call me Pat, Pat Tiernay,” interrupted he, roughly. 

“I’ll call you what you please,” said I, “if you let me 
add friend to it.” 

“That’s enough; we understand one another now, no 
more need be said ; you ’ll come home and live with me. 
It ’s not long, maybe, you ’ll have to do that same, but when 
I go you ’ll be heir to what I have ; ’t is more, perhaps, than 


302 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


many supposes, looking at the coat and the gaiters I am 
wearin’. Mind, Maurice, I don’t want you nor I don’t 
expect you to turn farmer like myself. Y r ou need never turn 
a hand to anything. You ’ll have your horse to ride, — two, 
if you like it. Your time will be all your own, so that you 
spend a little of it now and then with me, and as much 
divarsion as ever you care for.” 

I have condensed into a few words the substance of a 
conversation which lasted till we reached Baldoyle, and 
passing through that not over-imposing village, gained the 
neighborhood of the sea-shore, along which stretched the 
farm of the Black Pits, — a name derived, I was told, from 
certain black holes that were dug in the sands by fishermen 
in former times, when the salt tide washed over the pleasant 
fields where corn was now growing, A long, low, thatched 
cabin, with far more indications of room and comfort than 
pretension to the picturesque, stood facing the sea. There 
were neither trees nor shrubs around it, and the aspect of 
the spot was bleak and cheerless enough, a coloring a dark 
November day did nothing to dispel. 

It possessed one charm, however; and had it been a 
hundred times inferior to what it was, that one would have 
compensated for all else : a hearty welcome met me at the 
door, and the words, “This is your home, Maurice,” filled 
my heart with happiness. 

Were I to suffer myself to dwell even in thought on this 
period of my life, I feel how insensibly I should be led away 
into an inexcusable prolixity. The little meaningless inci- 
dents of my daily life, all so engraven on my memory still, 
occupied me pleasantly from day till night. Not only the 
master of myself and my own time, I was master of every- 
thing around me. Uncle Pat, as he loved to call himself, 
treated me with a degree of respect that was almost painful 
to me, and only when we were alone together did he relapse 
into the intimacy of equality. Two first-rate hunters stood 
in my stable ; a stout-built half-deck boat lay at my com- 
mand beside the quay ; I had my gun and my grayhounds ; 
books, journals ; everything, in short, that a liberal purse 
and a kind spirit could confer, — all but acquaintance. Of 
these I possessed absolutely none. Too proud to descend to 


A BRIEF CHANGE OF LIFE AND COUNTRY. 303 


intimacy with the farmers and small shopkeepers of the 
neighborhood, my position excluded me from acquaintance 
with the gentry ; and thus I stood between both, unknown 
to either. 

For a while my new career was too absorbing to suffer me 
to dwell on this circumstance. The excitement of field 
sports sufficed me when abroad, and I came home usually so 
tired at night that I could barely keep awake to amuse Uncle 
Pat with those narratives of war and campaigning he was so 
fond of hearing. To the hunting-field succeeded the Bay of 
Dublin, and I passed days, even weeks, exploring every 
creek and inlet of the coast, — now cruising under the dark 
cliffs of the Welsh shore, or, while my boat lay at anchor, 
wandering among the solitary valleys of Lambay, my life 
like a dream full of its own imaginings, and unbroken by the 
thoughts or feelings of others. I will not go the length of 
saying that I was self-free from all reproach on the inglorious 
indolence in which my days were passed, or that my thoughts 
never strayed away to that land where my first dreams of 
ambition were felt ; but a strange, fatuous kind of languor 
had grown upon me, and the more I retired within myself 
the less did I wish for a return to that struggle with the 
world which every active life engenders. Perhaps, — I can- 
not now say if it were so, — perhaps I resented the disdain- 
ful distance with which the gentry treated me, as we met in 
the hunting-field or the coursing-ground. Some of the isola- 
tion I preferred may have had this origin, but choice had the 
greater share in it ; until at last my greatest pleasure was to 
absent myself for weeks on a cruise, fancying that I was 
exploring tracts never visited by man, and landing on spots 
where no human foot had ever been known to tread. 

If Uncle Pat would occasionally remonstrate on the score 
of these long absences, he never ceased to supply means for 
them, and my sea store and a well-filled purse were never 
wanting, when the blue Peter floated from “La Hoche,’ , as 
in my ardor I had named my cutter. Perhaps at heart he 
was not sorry to see me avoid the capital and its society. 
The bitterness which had succeeded the struggle for inde- 
pendence was now at its highest point, and there was what, 
to my thinking at least, appeared something like the cruelty 


304 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


of revenge in the sentences which followed the state trials. 
I will not suffer myself to stray into the debatable ground of 
politics, nor dare I give an opinion on matters where, with 
all the experience of fifty years superadded, the wisest heads 
are puzzled how to decide ; but my impression at the time 
was that lenity would have been a safer and a better policy 
than severity, and that in the momentary prostration of the 
country lay the precise conjuncture for those measures of 
grace and favor which were afterwards rather wrung from 
than conceded by the English Government. Be this as it 
may, Dublin offered a strange spectacle at that period, — the 
triumphant joy of one party, the discomfiture and depression 
of the other; all the exuberant delight of success here, all 
the bitterness of failure there ; on one side festivities, rejoic- 
ings, and public demonstrations ; on the other, confinement, 
banishment, or the scaffold. 

The excitement was almost madness. The passion for 
pleasure, restrained by the terrible contingencies of the time, 
now broke forth with redoubled force, and the capital was 
thronged with all its rank, riches, and fashion when its jails 
were crowded, and the heaviest sentences of the law were 
in daily execution. The state trials were crowded by all 
the fashion of the metropolis ; and the heart-moving elo- 
quence of Curran was succeeded by the strains of a merry 
concert. It was just then, too, that the great lyric poet of 
Ireland began to appear in society ; and those songs which 
were to be known afterwards as “ The Melodies, ” par 
excellence , were first heard in all the witching enchantment 
which his own taste and voice could lend them. To such as 
were indifferent to or could forget the past, it was a brilliant 
period. It was the last flickering blaze of Irish nationality, 
before the lamp was extinguished forever. 

Of this society I myself saw nothing. But even into the 
retirement of my humble life the sounds of its mirth and 
pleasure penetrated, and I often wished to witness the scenes 
which even in vague description were fascinating. It was 
then, in a kind of discontent at my exclusion, that I grew 
from day to day more disposed to solitude, and fonder of 
those excursions which led me out of all reach of companion- 
ship or acquaintance. In this spirit I planned a long cruise 


A BRIEF CHANGE OF LIFE AND COUNTRY. 305 

down channel, resolving to visit the island of Valentia, or, 
if the wind and weather favored, to creep around the south- 
west coast as far as Bantry or Kenmare. A man and his 
son, a boy of about sixteen, formed all my crew, and were 
quite sufficient for the light tackle and easy rig of my craft. 
Uncle Pat was already mounted on his pony, and ready to 
set out for market, as we prepared to start. It was a bright 
spring morning, — such a one as now and then the changeful 
climate of Ireland brings forth in a brilliancy of color and 
softness of atmosphere that are rare in even more favored 
lands. 

“You have a fine day of it, Maurice, and just enough 
wind,” said he, looking at the point from whence it came. 
“I almost wish I was going with you.” 

“And why not come, then?” asked I. “You never will 
give yourself a holiday. Do so for once, now.” 

“Not to-day, anyhow,” said he, half sighing at his self- 
denial. “I have a great deal of business on my hands to- 
day ; but the next time, the very next you ’re up to a long 
cruise, I ’ll go with you.” 

“ That ’s a bargain, then? ” 

“ A bargain. Here ’s my hand on it.” 

We shook hands cordially on the compact. Little knew 
I it was to be for the last time, and that we were never to 
meet again ! 

I was soon aboard, and with a free mainsail skimming 
rapidly over the bright waters of the bay. The wind 
freshened as the day wore on, and we quickly passed the 
Kish light-ship, and held our course boldly down channel. 
The height of my enjoyment in these excursions consisted 
in the unbroken quietude of mind I felt when removed 
from all chance interruption, and left free to follow out my 
own fancies and indulge my dreamy conceptions to my 
heart’s content. It was then I used to revel in imaginings 
which sometimes soared into the boldest realms of ambi- 
tion, and at others strayed contemplatively in the humblest 
walks of obscure fortune. My crew never broke in upon 
these musings ; indeed, old Tom Finerty’s low crooning song 
rather aided than interrupted them. He was not much 
given to talking, and a chance allusion to some vessel afar 

20 


306 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


off, or some headland we were passing, were about the extent 
of his communicativeness, and even these often fell on my 
ear unnoticed. 

It was thus, at night, we made the Hook Tower, and on 
the next day passed, in a spanking breeze, under the bold 
cliffs of Tramore, just catching, as the sun was sinking, the 
sight of Youghal Bay and the tall headlands beyond it. 

“ The wind is drawing more to the nor’ard,” said old Tom, 
as night closed in, “ and the clouds look dirty.” 

“ Bear her up a point or two,” said I, “ and let us stand in 
for Cork Harbor, if it comes on to blow.” 

He muttered something in reply, but I did not catch the 
words ; nor, indeed, cared I to hear them, for I had just 
wrapped myself in my boat-cloak, and, stretched at full 
length on the shingle ballast of the yawl, was gazing in 
rapture at the brilliancy of the starry sky above me. Light 
skiffs of feathery cloud would now and then flit past, and a 
peculiar hissing sound of the sea told, at the same time, that 
the breeze was freshening. But old Tom had done his duty 
in mentioning this once, and thus having disburthened his 
conscience he closehauled his mainsail, shifted the ballast a 
little to midships, and putting up the collar of his pilot-coat 
screwed himself tighter into the corner beside the tiller, and 
chewed his quid in quietness. The boy slept soundly in the 
bow, and I, lulled by the motion and the plashing waves, 
fell into a dreamy stupor, like a pleasant sleep. The pitch- 
ing of the boat continued to increase, and twice or thrice 
struck by a heav} 7 sea she lay over till the white waves came 
tumbling in over her gunwale. I heard Tom call to his boy, 
something about the head-sail ; but for the life of me I could 
not or would not arouse myself from a train of thought that 
I was following. 

“ She ’s a stout boat to stand this,” said Tom, as 
he rounded her off, at a coming wave, which, even thus es- 
caped, splashed over us like a cataract. “ I know many 
a bigger craft would n’t hold up her canvas under such a 
gale.” 

“ Here it comes, father ! Here ’s a squall ! ” cried the boy ; 
and with a crash like thunder, the wind struck the sail and 
laid the boat half-under. 


A BRIEF CHANGE OF LIFE AND COUNTRY. 307 

“ She ’d float if she was full of water,” said the old man, as 
the craft righted. 

“But maybe the spars wouldn’t stand,” said the boy, 
anxiously. 

“ ’T is what I ’m thinking,” rejoined the father. “ There ’s 
a shake in the mast, below the caps.” 

“ Tell him it’s better to bear up, and go before it,” whis- 
pered the lad, with a gesture towards where I was lying. 

“ Troth, it’s little he ’d care,” said the other ; “ besides, he ’s 
never plazed to be woke up.” 

“ Here it comes again,” cried the boy. But this time the 
squall swept past ahead of us, and the craft only reeled to 
the swollen waves, as they tore by. 

“¥e’d better go about, sir,” said Tom to me ; “ there ’s a 
heavy sea outside, and it’s blowing hard now.” 

“ And there ’s a split in the mast as long as my arm,” cried 
the boy. 

“I thought she’d live through any sea, Tom! ” said I, 
laughing ; for it was his constant boast that no weather could 
harm her. 

“There goes the spar!” shouted he, while with a loud 
snap the mast gave way, and fell with a crash over the side. 
The boat immediately came head to wind, and sea after sea 
broke upon her bow, and fell in great floods over us. 

“ Cut away the stays ! clear the wreck,” cried Tom, “ be- 
fore the squall catches her ! ” 

And although we now labored like men whose lives de- 
pended on the exertion, the trailing sail and heavy rigging, 
shifting the ballast as they fell, laid her completely over ; and 
when the first sea struck her, over she went. The violence of 
the gale sent me a considerable distance out, and for several 
seconds I felt as though I should never reach the surface 
again. Wave after wave rolled over me, and seemed bearing 
me downwards with their weight. At last I grasped some- 
thing ; it was a rope, a broken halyard ; but by its means I 
gained the mast, which floated alongside of the yawl as she 
now lay keel uppermost. With what energy did I struggle 
to reach her ! The space was scarcely a dozen feet, and yet 
it cost me what seemed an age to traverse. Through all the 
roaring of the breakers and the crashing sounds of storm 


308 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


I thought I could hear my comrades’ voices shouting and 
screaming ; but this was in all likelihood a mere deception, for 
I never saw them more ! 

Grasping with a death-grip the slippery keel, I hung on 
the boat through all the night. The gale continued to increase, 
and by daybreak it blew a perfect hurricane. With an aching 
anxiety I watched for light to see if I were near the land, or 
if any ship were in sight; but when the sun rose, nothing 
met my eyes but a vast expanse of waves tumbling and toss- 
ing in mad confusion, while overhead some streaked and 
mottled clouds were hurried along with the wind. Happily 
for me, I have no correct memory of that long day of suffer- 
ing. The continual noise, but more still the incessant motion 
of sea and sky around, brought on a vertigo that seemed 
like madness ; and although the instinct of self-preservation 
remained, the wildest and most incoherent fancies filled my 
brain. Some of these were powerful enough to impress 
themselves upon my memory for years after, and one I have 
never yet been able to dispel. It clings to me in every season 
of unusual depression or dejection ; it recurs in the half night- 
mare sleep of over-fatigue, and even invades me when, restless 
and feverish, I lie for hours incapable of repose. This is the 
notion that my state was one of after-life punishment ; that I 
had died, and was now expiating a sinful life by the everlast- 
ing misery of a castaway. The fever brought on by thirst 
and exhaustion, and the burning sun which beamed down 
upon my uncovered head, soon completed the measure of this 
infatuation, and all sense and guidance left me. 

By what instinctive impulse I still held on my grasp I 
cannot explain ; but there I clung during the whole of that 
long dreadful day and the still more dreadful night, when 
the piercing cold cramped my limbs and seemed as if freez- 
ing the very blood within me. It was no wish for life, it 
was no anxiety to save myself, that now filled me. It 
seemed like a vague impulse of necessity that compelled me 
to hang on. It was, as it were, part of that terrible sentence 
which made this my doom forever ! 

An utter unconsciousness must have followed this state ; 
and a dreary blank, with flitting shapes of suffering, is all 
that remains to my recollection. 


A BRIEF CHANGE OF LIFE AND COUNTRY. 309 


Probably within the whole range of human sensations, 
there is not one so perfect in its calm and soothing influence 
as the first burst of gratitude we feel when recovering from 
a long and severe illness. There is not an object, however 
humble and insignificant, that is not for the time invested 
with a new interest. The air is balmier, flowers are sweeter, 
the voices of friends, the smiles and kind looks, are dearer 
and fonder than we have ever known them. The whole 
world has put on a new aspect for us, and we have not a 
thought that is not teeming with forgiveness and affection. 
Such, in all their completeness, were my feelings as I lay on 
the poop-deck of a large three-masted ship, which, with stud- 
ding and top-gallant sails all set, proudly held her course up 
the Gulf of St. Lawrence. 

She was a Dantzig barque, the “ Hoffnung,” bound for 
Quebec, — her only passengers being a Moravian minister 
and his wife, on their way to join a small German colony 
established near Lake Champlain. To Gottfried Kroller and 
his dear little wife I owe not life alone, but nearly all that 
has made it valuable. With means barely removed from 
absolute poverty, I found that they had spared nothing to 
assist in my recovery ; for, when discovered, emaciation and 
wasting had so far reduced me that nothing but the most 
unremitting care and kindness could have succeeded in 
restoring me. To this end they bestowed not only their 
whole time and attention, but every little delicacy of their 
humble sea-store. All the little cordials and restoratives 
meant for a season of sickness or debility were lavished 
unsparingly on me, and every instinct of national thrift and 
carefulness gave way before the more powerful influence of 
Christian benevolence. 

I can think of nothing but that bright morning, as I lay 
on a mattress on the deck, with the Pfarrer on one side of 
me, and his good little wife Lyschen on the other, — he with 
his volume of Wieland, and she working away with her long 
knitting-needles, and never raising her head save to bestow 
a glance at the poor sick boy, whose bloodless lips were try- 
ing to mutter her name in thankfulness. It is like the most 
delicious dream as I think over those hours, when, rocked by 
the surging motion of the large ship, hearing in half distinct- 


310 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


ness the words of the Pfarrer’s reading, I followed out little 
fancies, — now self -originating, now rising from the theme 
of the poet ’s musings. 

How softly the cloud- shadows moved over the white sails 
and swept along the bright deck ! How pleasantly the 
water rippled against the vessel’s side ! With what a glad 
sound the great ensign flapped and fluttered in the breeze ! 
There was light and life and motion on every side, and I felt 
all the intoxication of enjoyment. 

And like a dream was the portion of my life which fol- 
lowed. I accompanied the Pfarrer to a small settlement 
near Crown Point, where he was to take up his residence as 
minister. Here we lived amid a population of about four or 
five hundred Germans, principally from Pomerania on the 
shores of the Baltic, — a peaceful, thrifty, quiet set of beings, 
who, content with the little interests revolving around them- 
selves, never troubled their heads about the great events of 
war or politics ; and here in all likelihood should I have been 
content to pass my days, when an accidental journey I made 
to Albany, to receive some letters for the Pfarrer, once more 
turned the fortune of my life. 

It was a great incident in the quiet monotony of my life 
when I set out one morning, arrayed in a full suit of coarse, 
glossy black, with buttons like small saucers, and a hat 
whose brim almost protected my shoulders. I was, indeed, 
an object of very considerable envy to some, and, I hope 
also, not denied the admiring approval of some others. Had 
the respectable city I was about to visit been the chief 
metropolis of a certain destination which I must not name, 
the warnings I received about its dangers, dissipations, and 
seductions could scarcely have been more earnest or impres- 
sive. I was neither to speak with, nor even to look at, 
those I met in the streets. I was carefully to avoid taking 
my meals at any of the public eating-houses, rigidly guard- 
ing myself from the contamination of even a chance ac- 
quaintance. It was deemed as needless to caution me 
against theatres or places of amusement, as to hint to me 
that I should not commit a highway robbery or a murder ; 
and so, in sooth, I should myself have felt it. The patri- 
archal simplicity in which I had lived for above a year had 


A BRIEF CHANGE OF LIFE AND COUNTRY. 311 

not been without its effect in subduing exaggerated feeling, 
or controlling that passion for excitement so common to 
youth. I felt a kind of drowsy, dreamy languor over me, 
which I sincerely believed represented a pious and well-regu- 
lated temperament. Perhaps in time it might have become 
such. Perhaps with others, more happily constituted, the 
impression would have been confirmed and fixed ; but in my 
case it was a mere lacquer, that the first rubbing in the world 
was sure to brush off. 

I arrived safely at Albany, and having presented myself 
at the bank of Gabriel Shultze, was desired to call the fol- 
lowing morning, when all the letters and papers of Gottfried 
Kroller should be delivered to me. A very cold invitation 
to supper was the only hospitality extended to me. This I 
declined on pretext of weariness, and set out to explore the 
town, to which my long residence in rural life imparted a 
high degree of interest. 

I don’t know what it may now be, — doubtless a great 
capital like one of the European cities ; but at that time I 
speak of Albany was a strange, incongruous assemblage of 
stores and wooden houses, great buildings like granaries, 
with whole streets of low sheds around them, where, open 
to the passer-by, men worked at various trades, and people 
followed out the various duties of domestic life in sight of 
the public. Daughters knitted and sewed ; mothers cooked, 
and nursed their children ; men ate and worked and smoked 
and sang, as if in all the privacy of closed dwellings, while 
a thick current of population poured by, apparently too 
much immersed in their own cares or too much accustomed 
to the scene to give it more than passing notice. 

It was curious how one bred and born in the great city of 
Paris, with all its sights and sounds and scenes of excite- 
ment and display, could have been so rusticated by time as 
to feel a lively interest in surveying the motley aspect of 
this quaint town. There were, it is true, features in the 
picture very unlike the figures in Old World landscape. A 
group of red men, seated around a fire in the open street, or 
a squaw carrying on her back a baby firmly tied to a piece 
of curved bark ; a southern stater, with a spanking wagon- 
team, and two grinning negroes behind, — were new and 


312 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


strange elements in the life of a city. Still, the mere move- 
ment, the actual busy stir and occupation of the inhabitants, 
attracted me as much as anything else ; and the shops and 
stalls, where trades were carried on, were a seduction I could 
not resist. 

The strict puritanism in which I had lately lived taught 
me to regard all these things with a certain degree of dis- 
trust. They were the impulses of that gold-seeking passion 
of which Gottfried had spoken so frequently ; they were the 
great vice of that civilization whose luxurious tendency he 
often deplored. And here, now, more than one half around 
me, were arts that only ministered to voluptuous tastes. 
Brilliant articles of jewelry, gay cloaks worked with wampam 
in Indian taste, ornamental turning and costly weapons inlaid 
with gold and silver, succeeded each other, street after 
street ; and the very sight of them, however pleasurable to 
the eye, set me a-moralizing in a strain that would have 
done credit to a son of Geneva. It might have been that in 
my enthusiasm I uttered half aloud what I intended for 
soliloquy ; or perhaps some gesture, or peculiarity of manner, 
had the effect ; but so it was : I found myself an object of 
notice ; and my queer-cut coat and wide hat, contrasting so 
strangely with my youthful appearance and slender make, 
drew many a criticism on me. 

“ He ain’t a Quaker, that’s a fact,” cried one ; “for they 
don’t wear black.” 

“He’s a down-easter, — a horse-jockey chap, I’ll be 
bound,” cried another. “They put on all manner of dis- 
guises and masqueroonings. I know ’em ! ” 

“ He ’s a calf preacher, — a young bottle-nosed Gospeller,” 
broke in a thick, short fellow, like the skipper of a merchant 
ship. “ Let’s have him out for a preachment.” 

“Ay, you’re right,” chimed in another. “I’ll get you a 
sugar hogshead in no time ; ” and away he ran on the 
mission. 

Between twenty and thirty persons had now collected ; 
and I saw myself, to my unspeakable shame and mortifica- 
tion, the centre of all their looks and speculations. A little 
more aplomb or knowledge of life would have taught me 
coolness enough in a few words to undeceive them ; but such 


A BRIEF CHANGE OF LIFE AND COUNTRY. 813 


a task was far above me now, and I saw nothing for it but 
flight. Could I only have known which way to take, I need 
not have feared any pursuer, — for I was a capital runner, 
and in high condition ; but of the locality I was utterly igno- 
rant, and should only surrender myself to mere chance. 
With a bold rush, then, I dashed right through the crowd, 
and set off down the street, the whole crew after me. The 
dusk of the closing evening was in my favor ; and although 
volunteers were enlisted in the chase at every corner and 
turning, I distanced them, and held on my way in advance. 
My great object being not to turn on my course, lest I 
should come back to my starting point, I directed my steps 
nearly straight onward, clearing apple-stalls and fruit-tables 
at a bound, and more than once taking a flying leap over an 
Indian’s fire, when the mad shout of the red man would 
swell the chorus that followed me. At last I reached a net- 
work of narrow lanes and alleys, by turning and wending 
through which I speedily found myself in a quiet secluded 
spot, with here and there a flickering candle-light from the 
windows, but no other sign of habitation. I looked anx- 
iously about for an open door ; but they were all safe barred 
and fastened, and it was only on turning a corner I spied 
what seemed to me a little shop, with a solitary lamp over 
the entrance. A narrow canal, crossed by a rickety old 
bridge, led to this ; and the moment I had crossed over, I 
seized the single plank which formed the footway, and 
shoved it into the stream. My retreat being thus secured, I 
opened the door, and entered. It was a barber’s shop, — at 
least, so a great chair before a cracked old looking-glass, 
with some well-worn combs and brushes, bespoke it ; but the 
place seemed untenanted, and although I called aloud several 
times, none came or responded to my summons. 

I now took a survey of the spot, which seemed of the 
poorest imaginable. A few empty pomatum pots, a case 
of razors that might have defied the most determined suicide, 
and a half-finished wig on a block painted like a red man 
were the entire stock-in-trade. On the walls, however, were 
some colored prints of the battles of the French army in 
Germany and Italy. Execrably done things they were, but 
full of meaning and interest to my eyes in spite of that. 


314 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


With all the faults of drawing and all the travesties of cos- 
tume, I could recognize different corps of the service ; and 
my heart bounded as I gazed on the tall shakos swarming to 
a breach, or the loose jacket as it floated from the hussar in 
a charge. All the wild pleasures of soldiering rose once 
more to my mind, and I thought over old comrades who 
doubtless were now earning the high rewards of their bravery 
in the great career of glory. And as I did so, my own 
image confronted me in the glass, as with long, lank hair, 
and a great bolster of a white cravat, I stood before it. 
What a contrast ! how unlike the smart hussar, with curling 
locks and fierce mustache ! Was I as much changed in heart 
as in looks? Had my spirit died out within me? Would 
the proud notes of the bugle or the trumpet fall meaningless 
on my ears, or the hoarse cry of “ Charge ! ” send no burst- 
ing fulness to my temples? Ay, even these coarse repre- 
sentations stirred the blood in my veins, and my step grew 
firmer as I walked the room. 

In a passionate burst of enthusiasm, I tore off my slouched 
hat and hurled it from me. It felt like the badge of some 
ignoble slavery, and I determined to endure it no longer. 
The noise of the act called up a voice from the inner room, 
and a man, to all appearance suddenly roused from sleep, 
stood at the door. He was evidently young ; but poverty, 
dissipation, and raggedness made the question of his age a 
difficult one to solve. A light-colored mustache and beard 
covered all the lower part of his face, and his long blonde 
hah’ fell heavily over his shoulders. 

“ Well,” cried he, half angrily, “ what’s the matter? Are 
you so impatient that you must smash the furniture? ” 

Although the words were spoken as correctly as I have 
written them, they were uttered with a foreign accent ; and 
hazarding the stroke, I answered him in French by apolo- 
gizing for the noise. 

“ What ! a Frenchman,” exclaimed he, “ and in that dress ! 
What can that mean ? ” 

“ If you’ll shut your door, and cut off pursuit of me, I ’ll 
tell you everything,” said I, “ for I hear the voices of people 
coming down that street in front.” 

“ I ’ll do better,” said he, quickly ; “ I ’ll upset the bridge, 
and they cannot come over.” 


A BRIEF CHANGE OF LIFE AND COUNTRY. 315 


“That’s done already,” replied I; “I shoved it into the 
stream as I passed.” 

He looked at me steadily for a moment without speaking, 
and then approaching close to me said, “ Parbleu! the 
act was very unlike your costume ! ” At the same time he 
shut the door, and drew a strong bar across it. This done, 
he turned to me once more, — “ Now for it ! who are you, 
and what has happened to you ? ” 

“As to what I am,” replied I, imitating his own abrupt- 
ness, “ my dress would almost save the trouble of explaining ; 
these Albany folk, however, would make a field-preacher of 
me, and to escape them I took to flight.” 

“Well, if a fellow will wear his hair that fashion, he 
must take the consequence,” said he, drawing out my long 
lank locks as they hung over my shoulders. “And so you 
would n’t hold forth for them, — not even give them a stave 
of a conventicle chant?” He kept his eyes riveted on me 
as he spoke, and then seizing two pieces of stick from the 
firewood, he beat on the table the rantan-plan of the French 
drum. “ That’s the music you know best, lad, eh? That’s 
the air, which, if it has not led heavenward, has conducted 
many a brave fellow out of this world at least: do you 
forget it? ” 

“Forget it! no,” cried I; “but who are you; and how 
comes it that — that — ” I stopped in confusion at the 
rudeness of the question I had begun. 

“ That I stand here, half-fed, and all but naked ; a barber 
in a land where men don’t shave once a month? Parbleu! 
they ’d come even seldomer to my shop if they knew how 
tempted I feel to draw the razor sharp and quick across the 
gullet of a fellow with a well-stocked pouch.” 

As he continued to speak, his voice assumed a tone and 
cadence that sounded familiar to my ears as I stared at him 
in amazement. 

“ Not know me yet ! ” exclaimed he, laughing ; “ and yet 
all this poverty and squalor is n’t as great a disguise as your 
own, Tiernay. Come, lad, rub your eyes a bit, and try if 
you can’t recognize an old comrade.” 

“I know you, yet cannot remember how or where we 
met,” said I, in bewilderment. 


316 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


u I’ll refresh your memory,” said he, crossing his arms, 
and drawing himself proudly up. “ If you can trace back 
in your mind to a certain hot and dusty day, on the Metz 
road, when you, a private in the Seventh Hussars, were 
eating an onion and a slice of black bread for your dinner, 
a young officer, well looking and well mounted, cantered up 
and threw you his brandy flask. Your acknowledgment of 
the civility showed you to be a gentleman ; and the acquaint- 
ance thus opened soon ripened into intimacy.” 

“ But he was the young Marquis de Saint Trone,” said I, 
perfectly remembering the incident. 

“Or Eugene Santron, of the republican army, or the 
barber at Albany, without any name at all,” said he, laugh- 
ing. “ What, Maurice, don’t you know me yet? ” 

“What, the lieutenant of my regiment? The dashing 
officer of hussars?” 

“Just so, and as ready to resume the old skin as ever,” 
cried he, “and brandish a weapon somewhat longer and 
perhaps somewhat sharper, too, than a razor.” 

We shook hands with all the cordiality of old comrades, 
meeting far away from home and in a land of strangers ; 
and although each was full of curiosity to learn the other’s 
history, a kind of reserve held back the inquiry, till Santron 
said : — 

“ My confession is soon made, Maurice ; I left the service 
in the Meuse, to escape being shot. One day, on returning 
from a field manoeuvre, I discovered that my portmanteau 
had been opened, and a number of letters and papers taken 
out. They were part of a correspondence I held with old 
General Lamarre, about the restoration of the Bourbons, — 
a subject, I’m certain, that half the officers in the army 
were interested in, and, even to Bonaparte himself, deeply 
implicated in, too. No matter ; my treason, as they called 
it, was too flagrant, and I had just twenty minutes’ start 
of the order which was issued for my arrest to make my 
escape into Holland. There I managed to pass several 
months in various disguises, part of the time being employed 
as a Dutch spy, and actually charged with an order to 
discover tidings of myself, until I finally got away in an 
Antwerp schooner to New York. From that time my life 
has been nothing but a struggle, — a hard one, too, with 


A BRIEF CHANGE OF LIFE AND COUNTRY. 31 T 


actual want ; for in this land of enterprise and activity, mere 
intelligence, without some craft or calling, will do nothing. 

“I tried fifty things: to teach riding, — and when I 
mounted into the saddle, I forgot everything but my own 
enjoyment, and caracoled and plunged and passaged, till 
the poor beast had n’t a leg to stand on ; fencing, — and I 
got into a duel with a rival teacher, and ran him through the 
neck, and was obliged to fly from New York; French, — I 
made love to my pupil, a pretty looking Dutch girl, whose 
father did n’t smile on our affection ; and so on. I descended 
from a dancing-master to a waiter, a lacquais de ploxe, and 
at last settled down as a barber, which brilliant speculation 
I had just determined to abandon this very night ; for to- 
morrow morning, Maurice, I start for New York and France 
again. Ay, boy, and you ’ll go with me. This is no land 
for either of us.” 

“ But I have found happiness, at least contentment, here,” 
said I, gravely. 

“ What ! play the hypocrite tvith an old comrade ! Shame 
on you, Maurice ! ” cried he. “ It is these confounded locks 
have perverted the boy,” added he, jumping up ; and before 
I knew what he was about, he had shorn my hair, in two 
quick cuts of the scissors, close to the head. “ There,” said 
he, throwing the cut-off hair towards me, “ there lies all 
your saintship ; depend upon it, boy, they ’d hunt you out of 
the settlement if you came back to them cropped in this 
fashion.” 

“ But you return to certain death, Santron,” said I ; “ your 
crime is too recent to be forgiven or forgotten.” 

“ Not a bit of it ! Fouche, Cassaubon, and a dozen others, 
now in office, were deeper than I was. There ’s not a public 
man in France could stand an exposure, or hazard recrimin- 
ation. It’s a thieves’ amnesty at this moment, and I must 
not lose the opportunity. I ’ll show you letters that will 
prove it, Maurice ; for, poor and ill-fed as I am, I like life 
just as well as ever I did. I mean to be a general of division 
one of these days ; and so will you too, lad, if there ’s any 
spirit left in you.” 

Thus did Santron rattle oh, — sometimes of himself and 
his own future, sometimes discussing mine ; for, while talk- 
ing, he had contrived to learn all the chief particulars of my 


318 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


history, from the time of my sailing from La Rochelle for 
Ireland. 

The unlucky expedition afforded him great amusement, 
and he was never weary of laughing at all our adventures 
and mischances in Ireland. Of Humbert he spoke as a 
fourth or fifth-rate man, and actually shocked me by all 
the heresies he uttered against our generals and the plan 
of campaign ; but perhaps I could have borne even these 
better than the sarcasms and sneers at the little life of 
“ the settlement.” He treated all my efforts at defence as 
mere hypocrisy, and affected to regard me as a mere knave, 
that had traded on the confiding kindness of these simple 
villagers. I could not undeceive him on this head, nor, 
what was more, could I satisfy my own conscience that he 
was altogether in the wrong ; for, with a diabolical inge- 
nuity, he had contrived to hit on some of the most vexatious 
doubts which disturbed my mind, and instinctively to detect 
the secret cares and difficulties that beset me. The lesson 
should never be lost on us, that the devil was depicted as a 
sneerer ! I verily believe the powers of temptation have no 
such advocacy as sarcasm. Many can resist the softest 
seductions of vice ; many are proof against all the blandish- 
ments of mere enjoyment, come in what shape it will, — but 
how few can stand firm against the assaults of clever irony, 
or hold fast to their convictions when assailed by the sharp 
shafts of witty depreciation ! 

I am ashamed to own how little I could oppose to all his 
impertinences about our village and its habits, — or how im- 
possible I found it not to laugh at his absurd descriptions 
of a life which, without having ever witnessed, he depicted 
with a rare accuracy. He was shrewd enough not to push 
this ridicule offensively ; and long before I knew it, I found 
myself regarding with his eyes a picture in which but a few 
months back I stood as a foreground figure. I ought to 
confess that no artificial aid was derived from either good 
cheer or the graces of hospitality ; we sat by a miserable 
lamp, in a wretchedly cold chamber, our sole solace some 
bad cigars and a can of flat stale cider. 

“ I have not a morsel to offer you to eat, Maurice ; but to- 
morrow we ’ll breakfast on my razors, dine on that old look- 
ing-glass, and sup on two hard brushes and the wig ! ” 


A BRIEF CHANGE OF LIFE AND COUNTRY. 319 


Such were the brilliant pledges, and we closed a talk which 
the flickering lamp at last put an end to. 

A broken, unconnected conversation followed for a little 
time ; but at length, worn out and wearied, each dropped off 
to sleep, — Eugene on the straw settle, and I in the old 
chair, — never to awake till the bright sun was streaming in 
between the shutters, and dancing merrily on the tiled floor. 

An hour before I awoke, he had completed the sale of all 
his little stock-in-trade, and, with a last look round the spot 
where he had passed some months of struggling poverty, out 
we sallied into the town. 

“We’ll breakfast at Jonathan Hone’s,” said Santron ; 
“it’s the first place here. I’ll treat you to rump-steaks, 
pumpkin pie, and a gin twister that will astonish you. Then, 
while I’m arranging for our passage down the Hudson, 
you ’ll see the hospitable banker, and tell him how to forward 
all his papers and so forth to the settlement, with your 
respectful compliments and regrets, and the rest of it.” 

“But am I to take leave of them in this fashion?” 
asked I. 

“ Without you want me to accompany you there, I think 
it’s by far the best way,” said he, laughingly. “ If, how- 
ever, you think that my presence and companionship will 
add any lustre to your position, say the word, and I ’m ready. 
I know enough of the barber’s craft now to make up a head 
en Puritan; and, if you wish, I’ll pledge myself to impose 
upon the whole colony.” 

Here was a threat there was no mistaking ; and any impu- 
tation of ingratitude on my part were far preferable to the 
thought of such an indignity. He saw his advantage at 
once, and boldly declared that nothing should separate us. 

“ The greatest favor, my dear Maurice, you can ever expect 
at my hands is, never to speak of this freak of yours ; or, if 
I do, to say that you performed the part to perfection.” 

My mind was in one of those moods of change when the 
slightest impulse is enough to sway it, and more from this 
cause than all his persuasion I yielded ; and the same even- 
ing saw me gliding down the Hudson, and admiring the bold 
Kaatskills, on our way to New York. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


“THE ATHOL TENDER.” 

As I cast my eyes over these pages, and see how small a por- 
tion of my life they embrace, I feel like one who, having a 
long journey before him, perceives that some more speedy 
means of travel must be adopted if he ever hope to reach 
his destination. With the instinctive prosiness of age I have 
lingered over the scenes of boyhood, — a period which, strange 
to say, is fresher in my memory than many of the events of 
few years back, — and were I to continue my narrative as 
I have begun it, it would take more time on my part and 
more patience on that of my readers than are likely to be 
conceded to either of us. Were I to apologize to my readers 
for any abruptness in my transitions, or any want of con- 
tinuity in my story, I should perhaps inadvertently seem 
to imply a degree of interest in my fate which they have 
never felt ; and, on the other hand, I would not for a moment 
be thought to treat slightingly the very smallest degree of 
favor they may feel disposed to show me. With these diffi- 
culties on either hand, I see nothing for it but to limit myself 
for the future to such incidents and passages of my career as 
most impressed themselves on myself, and to confine my 
record to the events in which I personally took a share. 

Santron and I sailed from New York on the 9 th of 
February, and arrived in Liverpool on the 14th of March. 
We landed in as humble a guise as need be. One small box 
contained all our effects, and a little leathern purse, with 
something less than three dollars, all our available wealth. 
The immense movement and stir of the busy town, the crash 
and bustle of trade, the roll of wagons, the cranking clatter 
of cranes and windlasses, the incessant flux and reflux of 
population all eager and intent on business, were strange 
spectacles to our eyes as we loitered houseless and friendless 


THE ATHOL TENDER.' 


321 


through the streets, staring in wonderment at the wealth and 
prosperity of that land we were taught to believe was totter- 
ing to bankruptcy. 

Santron affected to be pleased with all, talked of the beau 
pillage it would afford one day or other ; but in reality this 
appearance of riches and prosperity seemed to depress and 
discourage him. Both French and American writers had 
agreed in depicting the pauperism and discontent of England, 
and yet where were the signs of it? Not a house was 
untenanted, every street was thronged, every market filled ; 
the equipages of the wealthy vied with the loaded wagons 
in number ; and if there were not the external evidences of 
happiness and enjoyment the gayer population of other coun- 
tries display, there was an air of well-being and comfort such 
as no other land could exhibit. 

Another very singular trait made a deep impression on us. 
Here were these islanders, with a narrow strait only sepa- 
rating them from a land bristling with bayonets ; the very 
roar of the artillery at exercise might be almost heard across 
the gulf, — and yet not a soldier was to be seen about ! 
There were neither forts nor bastions. The harbor, so 
replete with wealth, lay open and unprotected, not even a 
gun-boat or a guard-ship to defend it ! There was an inso- 
lence in this security that Santron could not get over, and he 
muttered a prayer that the day might not be distant that 
should make them repent it. 

He was piqued with everything. While on board ship we 
had agreed together to pass ourselves for Canadians, to avoid 
all inquiries of' the authorities. Heaven help us ! the au- 
thorities never thought of us. We were free to go or stay 
as we pleased. Neither police nor passport officers ques- 
tioned us; we might have been Hoche and Massena for 
aught they either knew or cared. Not a mouchard tracked 
us ; none even looked after us as we went. To me this was 
all very agreeable and reassuring ; to my companion it was 
contumely and insult. All the ingenious fiction he had 
devised of our birth, parentage, and pursuits was a fine 
romance inedited, and he was left to sneer at the self-suffi- 
ciency that would not take alarm at the advent of two ragged 
youths on the quay of Liverpool. 

21 


822 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ If they but knew who we were, Maurice,” he kept con- 
tinually muttering as we went along, — “if these fellows only 
knew whom they had in their town, what a rumpus it would 
create ! How the shops would close ! What barricading of 
doors and windows we should see, what bursts of terror 
and patriotism ! Par St. Denis , I have a mind to throw up 
my cap in the air and cry 4 Yive la Republique ! ’ just to 
witness the scene that would follow.” 

With all these boastings, it was not very difficult to 
restrain my friend’s ardor, and to induce him to defer his 
invasion of England to a more fitting occasion ; so that at 
last he was fain to content himself with a sneering commen- 
tary on all around him, and in this amiable spirit we descended 
into a very dirty cellar to eat our first dinner on shore. 

The place was filled with sailors, who, far from indulging 
in the well-known careless gayety of their class, seemed 
morose and sulky, talking together in low murmurs, and 
showing unmistakable signs of discontent and dissatisfac- 
tion. The reason was soon apparent ; the press-gangs were 
out to take men off to reinforce the blockading force before 
Genoa, a service of all others the most distasteful to a sea- 
man. If Santron at first was ready to flatter himself into 
the notion that very little persuasion would make these 
fellows take part against England, as he listened longer he 
saw the grievous error of the opinion, — no epithet of insult 
or contempt being spared by them when talking of France and 
Frenchmen. Whatever national animosity prevailed at that 
period sailors enjoyed a high pre-eminence in feeling. I 
have heard that the spirit was encouraged by those in com- 
mand, and that narratives of French perfidy, treachery, and 
even cowardice were the popular traditions of the sea 
service. We certainly could not controvert the old adage as 
to “listeners,” for every observation and every anecdote 
conveyed a sneer or an insult on our country. There could 
be no reproach in listening to these unresented ; but Santron 
assumed a most indignant air, and more than once affected 
to be overcome by a spirit of recrimination. What turn his 
actions might have taken in this wise I cannot even guess, 
for suddenly a rush of fellows took place up the ladder ; and 
in less than a minute the whole cellar was cleared, leaving 


THE ATHOL TENDER. 


323 


none but the hostess and an old lame waiter along with our- 
selves in the place. 

“ You ’ve got a protection, I suppose, sirs,” said the woman, 
approaching us ; “ but still I’ll advise you not to trust to it 
over-much. They ’re in great want of men just now ; and 
they care little for law or justice when once they have them 
on the high seas.” 

“We have no protection,” said I; “ we are strangers 
here, and know no one.” 

“ There they come, sir; that’s the tramp,” cried the 
woman ; “ there ’s nothing for it now but to stay quiet and 
hope you ’ll not be noticed. Take those knives up, will ye,” 
said she, flinging a napkin towards me, and speaking in an 
altered voice, for already two figures were darkening the 
entrance, and peering down into the depth below, while turn- 
ing to Santron she motioned to him to remove the dishes from 
the table, — a service in which, to do him justice, he exhibited 
a zeal more flattering to his tact than his spirit of resistance. 

“ Tripped their anchors already, Mother Martin?” said a 
large-whiskered man, with a black belt round his waist; 
while, passing round the tables, he crammed into his mouth 
several fragments of the late feast. 

“You wouldn’t have ’em wait for you, Captain John?” 
said she, laughing. 

“ It’s just what I would, then,” replied he. “ The Admi- 
ralty has put thirty shillings more on the bounty, and where 
will these fellows get the like of that? It is n’t a West India 
sendee, neither, nor a coastin’ cruise off Newfoundland, but 
all as one as a pleasure-trip up the Mediterranean, and 
nothing to fight but Frenchmen. Eh, younker, that tickles 
your fancy,” cried he to Santron, who, in spite of himself, 
made some gesture of impatience. “Handy chaps, those, 
Mother Martin ; where did you chance on ’em ? ” 

“ They’re sons of a Canada skipper in the river yonder,” 
said she, calmly. 

“They ar’n’t over like to be brothers,” said he, with the 
grin of one too well accustomed to knavery to trust anything 
opposed to his own observation. “ I suppose them ’s things 
happens in Canada as elsewhere,” said he, laughing, and 
hoping the jest might turn her flank. Meanwhile the press- 


324 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


leader never took his eyes off me, as I arranged plates and 
folded napkins with all the skill which my early education in 
Boivin’s restaurant had taught me. 

“He is a smart one,” said he, half -musingly. “I say, 
boy, would you like to go as cook’s aid on board a king’s 
ship? I know of one as would just suit you.” 

“I’d rather not, sir ; I ’d not like to leave my father,” said 
I, backing up Mrs. Martin’s narrative. 

“ Nor that brother there, — would n’t he like it? ” 

I shook my head negatively. 

“ Suppose I have a talk with the skipper about it,” said he, 
looking at me steadily for some seconds. “ Suppose I was 
to tell him what a good berth you ’d have, eh ? ” 

“Oh, if he wished it, I’d make no objection,” said I, 
assuming all the calmness I could. 

4 4 That chap ain’t your brother, and he ’s no sailor neither. 
Show me your hands, youngster,” cried he to Santron, who 
at once complied with the order, and the press captain bent 
over and scanned them narrowly. 

As he thus stood with his back to me, the woman shook 
her head significantly, and pointed to the ladder. If ever a 
glance conveyed a whole story of terror hers did. I looked 
at my companion as though to say, 44 Can I desert him?” 
and the expression of her features seemed to imply utter 
despair; This pantomime did not occupy half a minute ; and 
now, with noiseless step, I gained the ladder, and crept 
cautiously up it. My fears were how to escape those who 
waited outside ; but as I ascended I could see that they were 
loitering about in groups, inattentive to all that was going 
on below. The shame at deserting my comrade so nearly 
overcame me, that, when almost at the top, I was about to 
turn back again. I even looked round to see him ; but, as I 
did so, I saw the press leader draw a pair of handcuffs from 
his pocket, and throw them on the table. The instincts of 
safety were too strong, and with a spring I gained the street, 
and, slipping noiselessly along the wall, escaped the 4 4 look- 
out.” Without a thought of where I was going to, or what 
to do, I ran at the very top of my speed directly onwards, 
my only impulse being to get away from the spot. Could I 
reach the open country I thought it would be my best chance. 


THE ATHOL TENDER.' 


325 


As I fled, however, no signs of a suburb appeared ; the 
streets, on the contrary, grew narrower and more intricate ; 
huge warehouses, seven or eight stories high, loomed at 
either side of me ; and at last, on turning an angle, a fresh 
sea-breeze met me, and showed that I was near the harbor. 
I avow that the sight of shipping, the tall and taper spars 
that streaked the sky of night, the clank of chain cables and 
the heavy surging sound of the looming hulls were anything 
but encouraging, longing as I did for the rustling leaves of 
some green lane ; but still all was quiet and tranquil ; a few 
flickering lights twinkled here and there from a cabin window, 
but everything seemed sunk in repose. 

The quay was thickly studded with hogsheads and bales 
of merchandise, so that I could easily have found a safe 
resting-place for the night ; but a sense of danger banished 
all wish for sleep, and I wandered out, restless and uncertain, 
framing a hundred plans, and abandoning them when formed. 

So long as I kept company with Santron, I never thought 
of returning to Uncle Pat; my reckless spendthrift com- 
panion had too often avowed the pleasure he would feel in 
quartering himself on my kind friend, dissipating his hard- 
earned gains, and squandering the fruits of all his toil. 
Deterred by such a prospect, I resolved rather never to re- 
visit him than in such company. Now, however, I was 
again alone, and all my hopes and wishes turned towards 
him. A few hours’ sail might again bring me beneath his 
roof, and once more should I find myself at home. The 
thought was calming to all my excitement ; I forgot every 
danger I had passed through ; I lost all memory of every 
vicissitude I had escaped, and had only the little low parlor 
in the Black Pits before my mind’s eye, the wild, unweeded 
garden, and the sandy, sunny beach before the door. It was 
as though all that nigh a year had compassed had never 
occurred, and that my life at Crown Point and my return to 
England were only a dream. Sleep overcame me as I thus 
lay pondering, and when I awoke the sun was glittering in 
the bright waves of the Mersey, a fresh breeze was flaunting 
and fluttering the half-loosened sails, and the joyous sounds 
of seamen’s voices were mingling with the clank of capstans 
and the measured stroke of oars. 


326 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


It was full ten minutes after I awoke before I could re- 
member how I came there, and what had befallen me. Poor 
Santron ! where is he now ? was my first thought, and it 
came with all the bitterness of self-reproach. 

Could I have parted company with him under other cir- 
cumstances, it would not have grieved me deeply. His 
mocking, sarcastic spirit, the tone of depreciation which he 
used towards everything and everybody, had gone far to 
sour me with the world, and day by day I felt within me the 
evil influences of his teachings. How different were they 
from poor Gottfried’s lessons, and the humble habits of 
those who lived beneath them ! Yet I was sorry, deeply 
sorry, that our separation should have been thus, and almost 
wished I had stayed to share his fate, whatever it might be. 

While thus swayed by different impulses, now thinking of 
my old home at Crown Point, now of Uncle Pat’s thatched 
cabin, and again of Santron, I strolled down to the wharf, 
and found myself in a considerable crowd of people, who 
were all eagerly pressing forward to witness the embarka- 
tion of several boatfulls of pressed seamen, who, strongly 
guarded and ironed, were being conveyed to the “Athol” 
tender, a large three-master, about a mile off, down the 
river. To judge from the cut faces and bandaged heads and 
arms, the capture had not been effected without resistance. 
Many of the poor fellows appeared rather suited to a hospital 
than the duties of active service ; and several lay with blood- 
less faces and white lips, the handcuffed wrists seeming a 
very mockery of a condition so destitute of all chance of 
resistance. 

The sympathies of the bystanders were very varied re- 
garding them. Some were full of tender pity and compas- 
sion ; some denounced the system as a cruel and oppressive 
tyranny ; others deplored it as an unhappy necessity ; and a 
few well- to-do-looking old citizens, in drab shorts and wide- 
brimmed hats, grew marvellously indignant at the recreant 
poltroonery of the “ scoundrels who were not proud to fight 
their country’s battles.” 

As I was wondering within myself how it happened that 
men thus coerced could ever be depended on in moments of 
peril and difficulty, and by what magic the mere exercise of 


THE ATHOL TENDER.' 


327 


discipline was able to merge the feelings of the man in the 
sailor, the crowd was rudely driven back by policemen, and 
a cry of “make way,” “fall back there,” given. In the 
sudden retiring of the mass I found myself standing on the 
very edge of the line along which a new body of impressed 
men were about to pass. Guarded front, flank, and rear, by 
a strong party of marines, the poor fellows came along 
slowly enough. Many were badly wounded, and walked 
lamely ; some were bleeding profusely from cuts on the face 
and temples, and one, at the very tail of the procession, was 
actually carried in a blanket by four sailors. A low murmur 
ran through the crowd at the spectacle, which gradually 
swelled louder and fuller till it burst forth into a deep groan 
of indignation, and a cry of “ Shame ! shame ! ” Too much 
used to such ebullitions of public feeling, or too proud to 
care for them, the officer in command of the party never 
seemed to hear the angry cries and shouts around him ; and 
I was even more struck by his cool self-possession than by 
their enthusiasm. For a moment or two I was convinced 
that a rescue would be attempted. I had no conception that 
so much excitement could evaporate innocuously, and was 
preparing myself to take part in the struggle, when the line 
halted as the leading files gained the stairs, and to my won- 
derment, the crowd became hushed and still. Then, one 
burst of excited pity over, not a thought occurred to any to 
offer resistance to the law, or dare to oppose the constituted 
authorities. “ How unlike Frenchmen ! ” thought I ; nor am 
I certain whether I deemed the disparity to their credit ! 

“ Give him a glass of water! ” I heard the officer say, as 
he leaned over the litter, and the crowd at once opened to 
permit some one to fetch it. Before I believed it were pos- 
sible to have procured it, a tumbler of water was passed from 
hand to hand till it reached mine, and, stepping forwards, I 
bent down to give it to the sick man. The end of a coarse 
sheet was thrown over his face, and as it was removed I 
almost fell over him, for it was Santron. His face was 
covered with a cold sweat, which lay in great drops all over 
it, and his lips were slightly frothed. As he looked up I 
could see that he was just rallying from a fainting fit, and 
could mark in the change that came over his glassy eye that 


328 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


he had recognized me. He made a faint effort at a smile, 
and, in a voice barely a whisper, said, “I knew thou ’d not 
leave me, Maurice.” 

“You are his countryman?” said the officer, addressing 
me in French. 

“Yes, sir,” was my reply. 

“You are both Canadians, then?” 

“Frenchmen, sir, and officers in the service. We only 
landed from an American ship yesterday, and were trying to 
make our way to France.” 

“I’m sorry for you,” said- he, compassionately ; “ nor do 
I know how to help you. Come on board the tender, how- 
ever, and we ’ll see if they ’ll not give you a passage with 
your friend to the Nore. I’ll speak to my commanding- 
officer for you.” 

This scene all passed in a very few minutes, and before I 
well knew how or why, I found myself on board of a ship’s 
long-boat, sweeping along over the Mersey, with Santron’s 
head in my lap, and his cold, clammy fingers grasped in 
mine. He was either unaware of my presence or too weak 
to recognize me; for he gave no sign of knowing me, and 
during our brief passage down the river, and when lifted up 
the ship’s side, seemed totally insensible to everything. 

The scene of uproar, noise, and confusion on board the 
“ Athol ” is far above my ability to convey. A shipwreck, a 
fire, and mutiny, all combined, could scarcely have collected 
greater elements of discord. Two large detachments of 
marines, many of whom, fresh from furlough, were too drunk 
for duty, and were either lying asleep along the deck or 
riotously interfering with everybody ; a company of Sappers 
en route to Woolwich, who would obey none but their own 
officer, and he was still ashore ; detachments of able-bodied 
seamen from the “ Jupiter,” full of grog and prize-money; 
four hundred and seventy impressed men, cursing, blasphem- 
ing, and imprecating every species of calamity on their 
captors ; added to which, a crowd of Jews, bumboat women, 
and slop-sellers of all kinds, with the crews of two ballast- 
lighters, fighting for additional pay, — all being the chief 
actors in a scene whose discord I never saw equalled. 
Drunkenness, suffering, hopeless misery, and even insub- 


“THE ATHOL TENDER.' 


329 


ordination lent their voices to a tumult amid which the words 
of command seemed lost, and all effort at discipline vain. 

How we were ever to go to sea in this state I could not 
even imagine ; the ship’s crew seemed inextricably mingled 
with the rioters, many of whom were just sufficiently sober 
to be eternally meddling with the ship’s tackle, — belaying 
what ought to be “ free,” and loosening what should have 
been “fast;” getting their fingers jammed in blocks, and 
their limbs crushed by spars, till the cries of agony rose high 
above every other confusion. Turning with disgust from a 
spectacle so discordant and disgraceful, I descended the 
ladders which led by many a successive flight into the dark, 
low-ceilinged chamber called the “ sick bay,” and where poor 
Santron was lying in (what I almost envied) insensibility to 
the scene around him. A severe blow from the hilt of a 
cutlass had caused a concussion of the brain, and, save in 
the momentary excitement which a sudden question might 
cause, left him totally unconscious. His head had been 
already shaved before I descended ; and I found the assistant- 
surgeon, an Irishman, Mr. Peter Colhayne, experimenting a 
new mode of cupping as I entered. By some mischance of 
the machinery, the lancets of the cupping instrument had 
remained permanently fixed, refusing to obey the spring, and 
standing all straight outside the surface. In this dilemma, 
Peter’s ingenuity saw nothing for it but to press them down 
vigorously into the scalp, and then saw them backwards the 
whole length of the head, — a performance the originality of 
which, in all probability, was derived from the operation of 
a harrow in agriculture. He had just completed a third 
track when I came in, and, by great remonstrance and no 
small flattery, induced him to desist. “We have glasses,” 
said he, “but they were all broke in the cockpit; but a tin 
porringer is just as good.” And so saying, he lighted a 
little pledget of tow, previously steeped in turpentine, and, 
popping it into the tin vessel, clapped it on the head. This 
was meant to exhaust the air within, and thus draw the 
blood to the surface, — a scientific process he was good 
enough to explain most minutely for my benefit, and the 
good results of which he most confidently vouched for. 

“They’ve a hundred new conthrivances,” said Mr. 


330 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


Colhayne, “ for doing that simple thing ye see there. They ’ve 
pumps and screws and hydraulic devilments as much com- 
plicated as a watch that ’s always getting out of order and 
going wrong ; but with that ye ’ll see what good ’t will do 
him; he’ll be as lively as a lark in ten minutes.” 

The prophecy was destined to a perfect fulfilment ; for poor 
Santron, who lay motionless and unconscious up to that 
moment, suddenly gave signs of life by moving his features, 
and jerking his limbs to this side and that. The doctor’s 
self-satisfaction took the very proudest form. He expatiated 
on the grandeur of medical science, the wonderful advance- 
ment it was making, and the astonishing progress the cura- 
tive art had made even within his own time. I must own 
that I should have lent a more implicit credence to this paean 
if I had not waited for the removal of the cupping-vessel, 
which, instead of blood, contained merely the charred ashes 
of the burnt tow, while the scalp beneath it presented a 
blackened, seared aspect like burned leather. Such was 
literally the effect of the operation ; but as from that period 
the patient began steadily to improve, I must leave to more 
scientific inquirers the task of explaining through what 
agency and on what principles. 

Santron’s condition, although no longer dangerous, pre- 
sented little hope of speedy recovery. His faculties were 
clouded and obscured, and the mere effort at recognition 
seemed to occasion him great subsequent disturbance. 
Colhayne, who, whatever may have been his scientific defi- 
ciencies, was good-nature and kindness itself, saw nothing 
for him but removal to Haslar ; and we now only waited for 
the ship’s arrival at the Nore to obtain the order for his 
transmission. 

If the ‘ 4 Athol ” was a scene of the wildest confusion and 
uproar when we tripped our anchor, we had not been six 
hours at sea when all was a picture of order and propriety. 
The decks were cleared of every one not actually engaged 
in the ship’s working or specially permitted to remain ; ropes 
were coiled, boats hauled up, sails trimmed, hatches 
down, sentinels paced the deck in appointed places, and all 
was discipline and regularity. From the decorous silence 
that prevailed, none could have supposed so many hundred 


THE ATHOL TENDER. : 


331 


living beings were aboard, still less that they were the same 
disorderly mob who sailed from the Mersey a few short hours 
before. From the surprise which all this caused me I was 
speedily aroused by an order more immediately interesting, 
being summoned on the poop-deck to attend the general 
muster. Up they came from holes and hatchways, a vast 
host, no longer brawling and insubordinate, but quiet, sub- 
missive, and civil. Such as were wounded had been placed 
under the doctor’s care, and all those now present were 
orderly and service-like. With a very few exceptions they 
were all sailors, a few having already served in a king’s 
ship. The first lieutenant, who inspected us, was a grim, 
gray-headed man past the prime of life, with features 
hardened by disappointment and long service, but who still 
retained an expression of kindliness and good-nature. His 
duty he despatched with all the speed of long habit ; rea'd 
the name, looked at the bearer of it, asked a few routine 
questions, and then cried “ Stand by,” even ere the answers 
were finished. When he came to me he said, — 

“ Abraham Hackett. Is that your name, lad? ” 

“No, sir. I ’m called Maurice Tiernay.” 

“ Tiernay, Tiernay,” said he a couple of times over. “ No 
such name here. Where ’s Tiernay’s name, Cottle ? ” asked he 
of a subordinate behind him. 

The fellow looked down the list, then at me, then at the 
list again, and then back to me, puzzled excessively by the 
difficulty, but not seeing how to explain it. 

“ Perhaps I can set the matter right, sir,” said I. “I 
came aboard along with a wounded countryman of mine, — 
the young Frenchman who is now in the sick bay.” 

“ Ay, to be sure; I remember all about it now,” said the 
lieutenant. “ You call yourselves French officers?” 

“ And such are we, sir.” 

“Then how the devil came ye here? Mother Martin’s 
cellar is, to say the least of it, an unlikely spot to select as a 
restaurant.” 

“ The story is a somewhat long one, sir.” 

“ Then I have n’t time for it, lad,” he broke in. “We ’ve 
rather too much on hand just now for that. If you ’ve got 
your papers, or anything to prove what you assert, I ’ll land 


382 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


you when I come into the Downs, and you ’ll of course be 
treated as your rank in the service requires. If you have 
not, I must only take the responsibility on myself to regard 
you as an impressed man. Very hard, I know, but can’t help 
it. Stand by.” 

These few words were uttered with a most impetuous 
speed ; and as all reply to them was impossible, I saw my case 
decided and my fate decreed, even before I knew they were 
under litigation. 

As we were marched forwards to go below, I overheard an 
officer say to another, — 

“ Hay will get into a scrape about those French fellows; 
they may turn out to be officers, after all.” 

“ What matter?” cried the other. “ One is dying; and 
the other Hay means to draft on board the ‘ Temeraire.’ 
Depend upon it, we’ll never hear more of either of them.” 

This was far from pleasant tidings ; and yet I knew not 
any remedy for the mishap. I had never seen the officer who 
spoke to me ashore since we came on board. I knew of none 
to intercede for me ; and as I sat down on the bench beside 
poor Santron’s cot, I felt my heart lower than it had ever 
been before. I was never enamoured of the sea service, and 
certainly the way to overcome my dislike was not by engag- 
ing against my own country ; and yet this, in all likelihood, 
was now to be my fate. These were my last waking thoughts 
the first night I passed on board the “ Athol.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


A BOLD STROKE FOR FAME AND FORTUNE. 

To be awakened suddenly from a sound sleep, hurried half- 
dressed up a gangway, and ere your faculties have acquired 
free play be passed over a ship’s side on a dark and stormy 
night into a boat wildly tossed here and there, with spray 
showering over you and a chorus of loud voices about you, 
is an event not easily forgotten. Such a scene still dwells in 
my memory, every incident of it as clear and distinct as though 
it had occurred only yesterday. In this way was I passed, 
with twelve others, on board his Majesty’s frigate 44 Teme- 
raire,” a vessel which in the sea service represented what a 
well-known regiment did on shore, and bore the reputation of 
being a 44 condemned ship, ” — this depreciating epithet hav- 
ing no relation to the qualities of the vessel herself, which 
was a singularly beautiful French model, but only to that of 
the crew and officers ; it being the policy of the day to iso- 
late the blackguards of both services, confining them to 
particular crafts and corps, making, as it were, a kind of 
44 index expurgatorius,” where all the rascality was avail- 
able at a moment’s notice. 

It would be neither agreeable to my reader nor myself if 
I should dwell on this theme, nor linger on a description 
where cruelty, crime, heartless tyranny, and reckless insub- 
ordination made up all the elements. A vessel that floated 
the seas only as a vast penitentiary — the 44 cats,” the 44 yard- 
arm,” and the 44 gangway,” comprising its scheme of dis- 
cipline — would scarcely be an agreeable subject; and in 
reality my memory retains of the life aboard little else than 
scenes of suffering and sorrow. Captain Gesbrook had the 
name of being able to reduce any, the most insubordinate, to 
discipline. The veriest rascals of the fleet, the consummate 


334 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


scoundrels, one of whom was deemed pollution to an ordinary 
crew, were said to come from his hands models of seamanship 
and good conduct ; and it must be owned that if the char- 
acter was deserved, it was not obtained without some sacri- 
fice. Many died under punishment ; many carried away with 
them diseases under which they lingered on to death ; and not 
a few preferred suicide to the terrible existence on board. 
And although a “ Temeraire ” — as a man who had served in 
her was always afterwards called — was now and then shown 
as an example of sailor-like smartness and activity, very 
few knew how dearly that one success had been purchased, 
nor by what terrible examples of agony and woe that solitary 
conversion was obtained. 

To me the short time I spent on board of her is a dreadful 
dream. We were bound for the Mediterranean, to touch at 
Malta and Gibraltar, and then join the blockading squadron 
before Genoa. What might have been my fate, to what 
excess passionate indignation might have carried me, revolted 
as I was by tyranny and injustice, I know not, when an 
accident, happily for me, rescued me from all temptation. 
We lost our mizzenmast in a storm in the Bay of Biscay, 
and a dreadful blow on the head from the spanker-boom 
felled me to the deck, with a fracture of the skull. 

From that moment I know of nothing till the time when I 
lay in my cot, beside a port-hole of the main-deck, gazing at 
the bright blue waters that flashed and rippled beside me, or 
straining my strength to rest on my elbow, when I caught 
sight of the glorious city of Genoa, with its grand mountain 
background, about three miles from where I lay. Whether 
from a due deference to the imposing strength of the vast 
fortress, or that the line of duty prescribed our action, I 
cannot say, but the British squadron almost exclusively con- 
fined its operations to the act of blockade. Extending far 
across the bay, the English ensign was seen floating from 
many a taper mast ; while boats of every shape and size plied 
incessantly from ship to ship, their course marked out at 
night by the meteor-like light that glittered in them, — not, 
indeed, that the eye often turned in that direction, all the 
absorbing interest of the scene lying in-shore. Genoa was 
at that time surrounded by an immense Austrian force, under 


A BOLD STROKE FOR FAME AND FORTUNE. 335 

the command of General Melas, which, occupying all the 
valleys and deep passes of the Apennines, were impercep- 
tible during the day ; but no sooner had night closed in, than 
a tremendous cannonade began, the balls describing great 
semicircles in the air ere they fell to scatter death and ruin on 
the devoted city. The spectacle was grand beyond descrip- 
tion, for while the distance at which we lay dulled and sub- 
dued the sound of the artillery to a hollow booming, like 
far-off thunder, the whole sky was streaked by the course of 
the shot, and at intervals lighted up by the splendor of a 
great fire as the red shot fell into and ignited some large 
building or other. 

As night after night the cannonade increased in power 
and intensity, and the terrible effects showed themselves in 
flames which burst out from different quarters of the city, I 
used to long for morning to see if the tricolor still floated on 
the walls ; and when my eye caught the well-known ensign, 
I could have wept with joy as I beheld it. 

High up, too, on the cliffs of the rugged Apennines, from 
many a craggy eminence, where perhaps a solitary gun was 
stationed, I could see the glorious flag of France, the emblem 
of liberty and glory too. 

In the day the scene was one of calm and tranquil beauty ; 
it would have seemed impossible to connect it with war and 
battle. The glorious city, rising in terraces of palaces, lay 
reflected in the mirror-like waters of the bay, blue as the deep 
sky above them. The orange-trees, loaded with golden fruit, 
shed their perfume over marble fountains, amid gardens of 
every varied hue ; bands of military music were heard from 
the public promenades, — all the signs of joy and festivity 
which betokened a happy and pleasure-seeking population. 
But at night the u red artillery” again flashed forth, and the 
wild cries of strife and battle rose through the beleaguered 
city. The English spies reported that a famine and a dread- 
ful fever were raging within the walls, and that all Massena’s 
efforts were needed to repress an open mutiny of the garri- 
son; but the mere aspect of the proud city seemed to 
refute the assertion. The gay carolling of church bells vied 
with the lively strains of martial music, and the imposing 
pomp of military array, which could be seen from the walls, 


836 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


bespoke a joyous confidence, the very reverse of this 
depression. 

From the “tops,” and high up in the rigging, the move- 
ments in-shore could be descried ; and frequently, when an 
officer came down to visit a comrade, I could hear of the pro- 
gress of the siege, and learn, I need not say with what 
delight, that the Austrians had made little or no way in the 
reduction of the place, and that every stronghold and bas- 
tion was still held by Frenchmen. 

At first, as I listened, the names of new places and new 
generals confused me ; but by daily familiarity with the topic, 
I began to perceive that the Austrians had interposed a por- 
tion of their force between Massena’s division and that of 
Suchet, cutting off the latter from Genoa, and compelling him 
to fall back towards Chiavari and Borghetto, along the coast 
to the Gulf. This was the first success of any importance 
obtained ; and it was soon followed by others of equal signi- 
ficance, Soult being driven from ridge to ridge of the Apen- 
nines, till he was forced back within the second line of 
defences. 

The English officers were loud in condemning Austrian 
slowness, the inaptitude they exhibited to profit by a success, 
and the over-caution which made them, even in victory, so 
careful of their own safety. From what I overheard, it 
seemed plain that Genoa was untenable by any troops but 
French, or opposed to any other adversaries than their pre- 
sent ones. 

The bad tidings — such I deemed them — came quicker and 
heavier. Now, Soult was driven from Monte Notte. Now, 
the great advance post of Monte Faccio was stormed and 
carried. Now, the double eagle was floating from San Tecla, 
a fort within cannon-shot of Genoa. A vast semicircle of 
bivouac fires stretched from the Apennines to the sea, and 
their reflected glare from the sky lit up the battlements and 
ramparts of the city. 

“ Even yet, if Massena would make a dash at them,” said a 
young English lieutenant, ‘ ‘ the white-coats would fall back.” 

“ My life on ’t he ’d cut his way through, if he knew they 
were only two to one ! ” 

And this sentiment met no dissentient. All agreed that 


A BOLD STROKE EOR FAME AND FORTUNE. 337 


French heroism was still equal to the overthrow of a force 
double its own. 

It was evident that all hope of reinforcement from France 
was vain. Before they could have begun their march south- 
ward, the question must be decided one way or other. 

“There’s little doing to-night,” said an officer, as he de- 
scended the ladder to the sick bay. “ Melas is waiting for 
some heavy mortars that are coming up ; and then there will 
be a long code of instructions from the Aulic Council, and a 
whole treatise on gunnery to be read, before he can use them. 
Trust me, if Massena knew his man, he ’d be up and at him.” 

Much discussion followed this speech, but all more or less 
agreed in its sentiment. Weak as were the French, lowered 
by fever and by famine, they were still an overmatch for 
their adversaries. What a glorious avowal from the lips of 
an enemy was this ! The words did more for my recovery 
than all the care and skill of physic. Oh if my countrymen 
but knew ! if Massena could but hear it ! was my next 
thought ; and I turned my eyes to the ramparts, whose line 
was marked out by the bivouac fires through the darkness. 
How short the distance seemed ! and yet it was a whole 
world of separation. Had it been a great plain in a moun- 
tain tract, the attempt might almost have appeared practi- 
cable ; at least, I had often seen fellows who would have tried 
it. Such were the ready roads, the royal paths to promotion ; 
and he who trod them saved miles of weary journey. I fell 
asleep, still thinking on these things ; but they haunted my 
dreams. A voice seemed ever to whisper in my ear, “ If 
Massena but knew, he would attack them ! One bold dash, 
and the Austrians would fall back.” At one instant, I thought 
myself brought before a court-martial of English officers for 
attempting to carry these tidings ; and proudly avowing the 
endeavor, I fancied I was braving the accusation. At 
another, I was wandering through the streets of Genoa, 
gazing on the terrible scenes of famine I had heard of. And, 
lastly, I was marching with a night party to attack the 
enemy ; the stealthy footfall of the column appeared sud- 
denly to cease, — we were discovered, the Austrian cavalry 
were upon us ! I started and awoke, and found myself in 
the dim, half-lighted chamber, with pain and suffering 

22 


338 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


around me, and where, even in this midnight hour, the rest- 
less tortures of disease were yet wakeful. 

“The silence is more oppressive to me than the roll of 
artillery,” said one, a sick midshipman, to his comrade. “ I 
grew accustomed to the clatter of the guns, and slept all the 
better for it.” 

“ You ’ll scarcely hear much more of that music,” replied 
his friend. “ The French must capitulate to-morrow or next 
day.” 

“ Not if Massena would make a dash at them,” thought I ; 
and with difficulty could I refrain from uttering the words 
aloud. 

They continued to talk to each other in low whispers, and 
lulled by the drowsy tones I fell asleep once more, again to 
dream of my comrades and their fortunes. A heavy bang 
like a cannon-shot awoke me ; but whether this were real or 
not I never knew, — most probably, however, it was the mere 
creation of my brain, for all were now in deep slumber 
around me, and even the marine on duty had seated himself 
on the ladder, and with his musket between his legs seemed 
dozing away peacefully. I looked out through the little 
window beside my berth. A light breeze was faintly rip- 
pling the dark water beneath me. It was the beginning of 
a Levanter, and scarcely ruffled the surface as it swept 
along. 

“Oh if it would but bear the tidings I am full of!” 
thought I. “ But why not dare the attempt myself? ” 

While in America I had learned to become a good swim- 
mer. Under Indian teaching, I had often passed hours in 
the water ; and though now debilitated by long sickness, I 
felt that the cause would supply me with the strength I 
needed. From the instant that I conceived the thought till 
I found myself descending the ship’s side, was scarcely a 
minute. Stripping off my woollen shirt, and with nothing 
but my loose trousers, I crept through the little window, and 
lowering myself gently by the rattlin of my hammock, 
descended slowly and noiselessly into the sea. I hung on 
thus for a couple of seconds, half fearing the attempt, and 
irresolute of purpose. Should strength fail, or even a cramp 
seize me, I must be lost, and none would ever know in what 
an enterprise I had perished ; it would be set down as a 


A BOLD STROKE FOR FAME AND FORTUNE. 339 


mere attempt at escape. This notion almost staggered my 
resolution, but only for a second or so ; and, with a short 
prayer, I slowly let slip the rope, and struck out to swim. 

The immense efforts required to get clear of the ship’s side 
discouraged me dreadfully, nor probably without the aid of 
the Levanter should I have succeeded in doing so, the 
suction of the water along the sides was so powerful. At 
last, however, I gained the open space, and found myself 
stretching away towards shore rapidly. The night was so 
dark that I had nothing to guide me save the lights on the 
ramparts ; but in this lay my safety. Swimming is, after 
all, but a slow means of progression. After what I judged 
to be an hour in the water, as I turned my head to look back, 
I almost fancied that the great bowsprit of the “ Temeraire ” 
was over me, and that the figure who leaned over the taffrail 
was steadily gazing on me. How little way had I made, and 
what a vast reach of water lay between me and the shore ! 
I tried to animate my courage by thinking of the cause, how 
my comrades would greet me, the honor in which they would 
hold me for the exploit, and such like ; but the terror of 
failure damped this ardor, and hope sank every moment 
lower and lower. 

For some time I resolved within myself not to look back, 
the discouragement was too great ; but the impulse to do so 
became all the greater, and the only means of resisting was 
by counting the strokes, and determining not to turn my 
head before I had made a thousand. The monotony of this 
last, and the ceaseless effort to advance, threw me into a kind 
of dreamy state, wherein mere mechanical effort remained. 
A few vague impressions are all that remain to me of what 
followed. I remember the sound of the morning guns from 
the fleet ; I remember, too, the hoisting of the French stan- 
dard at daybreak on the fort of the mole ; I have some recol- 
lection of a bastion crowded with people, and hearing shouts 
and cheers like voices of welcome and encouragement ; and 
then a whole fleet of small boats issuing from the harbor, 
as if by one impulse ; and then there comes a bright blaze of 
light over one incident, for I saw myself, dripping and almost 
dead, lifted on the shoulders of strong men, and carried 
along a wide street filled with people. I was in Genoa. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


“GENOA IN THE SIEGE.” 

Up a straight street, so steep and so narrow that it seemed a 
stair, with hundreds of men crowding around me, I was 
borne along. Now they were sailors who carried me ; now, 
white-bearded grenadiers, with their bronzed, bold faces ; 
now they were the wild-looking Faquini of the Mole, with 
long-tasselled red caps, and gaudy sashes around their waists. 
Windows were opened on either side as we went, and eager 
faces protruded to stare at me ; and then there were shouts 
and cries of triumphant joy bursting forth at every moment, 
amidst which I could hear the ever-recurring words, 44 Escaped 
from the English fleet.” 

By what means or when I had exchanged my dripping 
trousers of coarse sail-cloth for the striped gear of our re- 
publican mode, — how one had given me his jacket, another 
a cap, and a third a shirt, — I knew not ; but there I was, 
carried along in triumph, half fainting from exhaustion, and 
almost maddened by excitement. That I must have told 
something of my history — Heaven knows how incoherently 
and unconnectedly — is plain enough, for I could hear them 
repeating one to the other, 4 4 Had served with Moreau’s 
corps in the Black Forest;” “A hussar of the Ninth;” 
44 One of Humbert’s fellows ; ” and so on. 

As we turned into a species of Place, a discussion arose 
as to whither they should convey me. Some were for the 
Cavalry Barracks, that I might be once more with those 
who resembled my old comrades. Others, more considerate, 
were for the hospital ; but a staff-officer decided the question 
by stating that the general was at that very moment receiv- 
ing the report in the church of the Annunziata, and that he 
ought to see me at once. 


GENOA IN THE SIEGE- 


341 


“Let the poor fellow have some refreshment,” cried one. 
“Here, take this, it’s coffee.” “ No, no, the petit goutte is 
better; try that flask.” “He shall have my chocolate,” 
said an old major, from the door of a cafe. And thus they 
pressed and solicited me with a generosity that I had yet to 
learn how dear it cost. 

4 4 He ought to be dflessed ; ” “He should be in uniform ; ” 
“ Is better as he is ; ” “ The general will not speak to him 
thus ; ” 44 He will ; ” 44 He must.” 

Such, and such like, kept buzzing around me, as with 
reeling brain and confused vision they bore me up the great 
steps and carried me into a gorgeous church, the most 
splendidly ornamented building I had ever beheld. Except, 
however, in the decorations of the ceiling and the images of 
saints which figured in niches high up, every trace of a 
religious edifice had disappeared. The pulpit had gone ; the 
chairs and seats for the choir, the confessionals, the shrines, 
altars, all had been uprooted ; and a large table, at which 
some twenty officers were seated writing, now occupied the 
elevated platform of the high altar, while here and there 
stood groups of officers, with their reports from their various 
corps or parties in out-stations. Many of these drew near to 
me as I entered, and now the buzz of voices in question and 
rejoinder swelled into a loud noise ; and while some were 
recounting my feat with all the seeming accuracy of eye- 
witnesses, others were as resolutely protesting it all to be 
impossible. Suddenly the tumult was hushed, the crowd 
fell back, and as the clanking muskets proclaimed a 
44 salute,” a whispered murmur announced 44 the General.” 

I could just see the waving plumes of his staff as they 
passed up; and then, as they were disappearing in the 
distance, they stopped, and one hastily returned to the 
entrance of the church. 

44 Where is this fellow? Let me see him,” cried he, hur- 
riedly, brushing his way through the crowd. 44 Let him 
stand down ; set him on his legs.” 

44 He is too weak, Capitaine ,” said a soldier. 

44 Place him in a chair, then,” said the aide-de-camp, for 
such he was. 44 You have made your escape from the English 
fleet, my man?” continued he, addressing me. 


342 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“I am an officer, and your comrade,” replied I, proudly; 
for with all my debility, the tone of his address stung me to 
the quick. 

“ In what service, pray?” asked he, with a sneering look 
at my motley costume. 

“Your general shall hear where I have served, and how, 
whenever he is pleased to ask me,” was my answer. 

“Ay, parbleu!” cried three or four sous-officiers in a 
breath, “ the general shall see him himself.” 

And with a jerk they hoisted me once more on their 
shoulders, and with a run — the regular storming tramp of 
the line — they advanced up the aisle of the church, and 
never halted till within a few feet of where the staff were 
gathered around the general. A few words — they sounded 
like a reprimand — followed ; a severe voice bade the soldiers 
“ fall back,” and I found myself standing alone before a 
tall and very strongly-built man, with a large, red-brown 
beard ; he wore a gray upper coat over his uniform, and 
carried a riding- whip in his hand. 

“ Get him a seat. Let him have a glass of wine,” cried 
he, quickly, as he saw the tottering efforts I was making to 
keep my legs. “ Are you better now?” asked he, in a voice 
which, rough as it was, sounded kindly. 

Seeing me so far restored, he desired me to recount my 
late adventure, which I did in the fewest words and the most 
concise fashion I could. Although never interrupting, I 
could mark that particular portions of my narrative made 
much impression on him, and he could not repress a gesture 
of impatience when I told him that I was impressed as a 
seaman to fight against the flag of my own country. 

“Of course, then,” cried he, “you were driven to the 
alternative of this attempt.” 

“Not so, General,” said I, interrupting; “I had grown 
to be very indifferent about my own fortunes. I had become 
half fatalist as to myself. It was on very different grounds, 
indeed, that I dared this danger. It was to tell you — for if 
I mistake not I am addressing General Massena — tidings 
of deep importance.” 

I said these words slowly and deliberately, and giving 
them all the impressiveness I was able. 

“ Come this way, friend,” said he, and, assisting me to 










GENOA IN THE SIEGE.’ 


843 


arise, he led me a short distance off, and desired me to sit 
down on the steps in front of the altar railing. “ Now you 
may speak freely. I am the General Massena, and I have 
only to say that if you really have intelligence of any value 
for me you shall be liberally rewarded; but if you have 
not, and if the pretence be merely an effort to impose on 
one whose cares and anxieties are already hard to bear, it 
would be better that you had perished on sea than tried to 
attempt it.” 

There was a stern severity in the way he said this, which 
for a moment or two actually overpowered me. It was quite 
clear that he looked for some positive fact, some direct piece 
of information on which he might implicitly rely ; and here 
was I now with nothing save the gossip of some English 
lieutenants, the idle talk of inexperienced young officers. I 
was silent. From the bottom of my heart I wished that I 
had never reached the shore, to stand in a position of such 
humiliation as this. 

“ So, then, my caution was not unneeded,” said the gen- 
eral, as he bent his heavy brows upon me. “ Now, sir, there 
is but one amende you can make for this : tell me frankly, 
have others sent you on this errand, or is the scheme entirely 
of your own devising ? Is this an English plot, or is there a 
Bourbon element in it ? ” 

“Neither one nor the other,” said I, boldly, for indigna- 
tion at last gave me courage. “ I hazarded my life to tell 
you what I overheard among the officers of the fleet yonder. 
You may hold their judgment cheap ; you may not think 
their counsels worth the pains of listening to ; but I could 
form no opinion of this, and only thought if these tidings 
could reach you, you might profit by them.” 

“ And what are they? ” asked he, 'bluntly. 

“ They said that your force was wasting away by famine 
and disease ; that your supplies could not hold out above a 
fortnight ; that your granaries were empty, and your hospi- 
tals filled.” 

“They scarcely wanted the gift of second sight to see 
this,” said he, bitterly. “ A garrison in close siege for four 
months may be suspected of as much.” 

“Yes; but they said that as Soult’s force fell back upon 
the city, your position would be rendered worse.” 


344 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ Fell back from where? ” asked he, with a searching look 
at me. 

1 4 As I understood, from the Apennines,” replied I, grow- 
ing more confident as I saw that he became more attentive. 
44 If I understood them aright, Soult held a position called 
the Monte Faccio. Is there such a name?” 

“Go on,” said he, with a nod of assent. 

4 4 That this could not long be tenable without gaining the 
highest fortified point of the mountain. The Monte Creto 
they named it.” 

“The attempt on which has failed! ” said Massena, as if 
carried away by the subject; “ and Soult himself is a pris- 
oner! Goon.” 

“They added that now but one hope remained for this 
army.” 

44 And what was that, sir?” said he, fiercely. “What 
suggestion of cunning strategy did these sea-wolves inti- 
mate ? ” 

“ To cut your way through the blockade, and join Suchet’s 
corps, attacking the Austrians at the Monte Ratte, and by 
the sea-road gaining the heights of Bochetta.” 

“Do these heroic spirits know the strength of that same 
Austrian corps? Did they tell you that it numbered fifty- 
four thousand bayonets ? ” 

“ They called them below forty thousand; and that now 
that Bonaparte was on his way through the Alps, perhaps by 
this time over the Mount Cenis — ” 

“What! did they say this? Is Bonaparte so near us?” 
cried he, placing a hand on either shoulder, as he stared me 
in the face. 

“Yes; there is no doubt of that. The despatch to Lord 
Keith brought the news a week ago, and there is no secret 
made about it in the fleet.” 

“ Over Mount Cenis ! ” repeated he to himself. “ Already 
in Italy ! ” 

“ Holding straight for Milan, Lord Keith thinks, ” 
added I. 

“ No, sir, — straight for the Tuileries,” cried Massena, 
sternly ; and then correcting himself suddenly, he burst into 
a forced laugh. 

I must confess that the speech puzzled me sorely at the 


GENOA IN THE SIEGE.’ 


345 


time, but I lived to learn its meaning ; and many a time 
have I wondered at the shrewd foresight which even then 
read the ambitious character of the future emperor. 

“ Of this fact, then, you are quite certain. Bonaparte is 
on his march hither ? ” 

“ I have heard it spoken of every day for the last week,” 
replied I ; “ and it was in consequence of this that the Eng- 
lish officers used to remark, ‘ If Massena but knew it, 
he’d make a dash at them, and clear his way through at 
once.’ ” 

“ They said this, did they? ” said he, in a low voice, and 
as if pondering over it. 

“Yes; one and all agreed in thinking there could not be 
a doubt of the result.” 

“Where have you served, sir?” asked he, suddenly turn- 
ing on me, and with a look that showed he was resolved to 
test the character of the witness. 

“ With Moreau, sir, on the Rhine and the Schwartz Wald ; 
in Ireland with Humbert.” 

“ Your regiment? ” 

“ The Ninth Hussars.” 

“ The Tapageurs,” said he, laughing. “ I know them, 
and glad I am not to have their company here at this mo- 
ment; you were a lieutenant?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Well, supposing that on the faith of what you have told 
me I was to follow the wise counsel of these gentlemen, 
would you like the alternative of gaining your promotion in 
the event of success, or being shot by a peleton if we fail ? ” 

“They seem sharp terms, sir,” said I, smiling, “when it 
is remembered that no individual efforts of mine can either 
promote one result or the other.” 

“ Ay, but they can sir,” cried he, quickly. “ If you should 
turn out to be an Austro-English spy ; if these tidings be of 
a character to lead my troops into danger ; if, in reliance on 
you, I should be led to compromise the honor and safety of 
a French army, — your life, were it worth ten thousand times 
over your own value of it, would be a sorry recompense. Is 
this intelligible ? ” 

“Far more intelligible than flattering,” said I, laughing; 
for I saw that the best mode to treat him was by an imita- 


846 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


tion of his own frank and careless humor. “ I have already 
risked that life you hold so cheaply, to convey this informa- 
tion ; but I am still ready to accept the conditions you offer 
me if, in the event of success, my name appear in the 
despatch.” 

He again stared at me with his dark and piercing eyes ; 
but I stood the glance with a calm conscience, and he seemed 
so to read it, for he said, — 

“Be it so. I will, meanwhile, test your prudence. Let 
nothing of this interview transpire ; not a word of it among 
the officers and comrades you shall make acquaintance with. 
You shall serve on my own staff ; go, now, and recruit your 
strength for a couple of days, and then report yourself at 
headquarters when ready for duty. Latrobe, look to the 
Lieutenant Tiernay ; see that he wants for nothing, and let 
him have a horse and a uniform as soon as may be.” 

Captain Latrobe, the future general of division, was then 
a young, gay officer of about five-and-twenty, very good-look- 
ing, and full of life and spirits, a buoyancy which the terrible 
uncertainties of the siege could not repress. 

“ Our general talks nobly, Tiernay,” said he, as he gave 
me his arm to assist me ; “ but you ’ll stare when I tell you 
that ‘ wanting for nothing ’ means having four ounces of 
black bread and ditto of blue cheese per diem ; and as to a 
horse, if I possessed such an animal, I ’d have given a dinner 
party yesterday and eaten him. You look surprised, but 
when you see a little more of us here, you ’ll begin to think 
that prison rations in the fleet yonder were luxuries compared 
to what we have. No matter, you shall take share of my 
superabundance ; and if I have little else to offer, I ’ll show 
you a view from my window finer than anything you ever 
looked on in your life, and with a sea breeze that would be 
glorious if it didn’t make one hungry.” 

While he thus rattled on we reached the street, and there 
calling a couple of soldiers forward, he directed them to 
carry me along to his quarters, which lay in the upper town, 
on an elevated plateau that overlooked the city and the bay 
together. 

From the narrow lanes flanked with tall, gloomy houses, 
and steep, ill-paved streets exhibiting poverty and privation 
of every kind, we suddenly emerged into an open space of 


GENOA IN THE SIEGE . 1 


847 


grass, at one side of which a handsome iron railing stood, 
with a richly-ornamented gate gorgeously gilded. Within 
this was a garden and a fish-pond surrounded with statues, 
and further on a long, low villa, whose windows reached to 
the ground, and were shaded by a deep awning of striped 
blue and white canvas. Camellias, orange-trees, cactuses, 
and magnolias abounded everywhere; tulips and hyacinths 
seemed to grow wild; and there was in the half-neglected 
look of the spot something of savage luxuriance that height- 
ened the effect immensely. 

“ This is my Paradise, Tiernay, only wanting an Eve to be 
perfect,” said Latrobe, as he set me down beneath a spread- 
ing lime-tree. “ Yonder are your English friends ; there 
they stretch away for miles beyond that point. That ’s the 
Monte Creto you may have heard of ; and there ’s the Bo- 
chetta. In that valley, to the left, the Austrian outposts are 
stationed ; and from those two heights closer to the shore 
they are gracious enough to salute us every evening after 
sunset, and even prolong the attention sometimes the whole 
night through. Turn your eyes in this direction, and you 11 
see the cornice road, that leads to la belle France, but of 
which we see as much from this spot as we are ever like to do. 
So much for the geography of our position ; and now to look 
after your breakfast. You have, of course, heard that we 
do not revel in superfluities. Never was the boasted excel- 
lence of our national cookery more severely tested, for we 
have successively descended from cows and sheep to goats, 
horses, donkeys, dogs, occasionally experimenting on hides 
and shoe-leather, till we ended by regarding a rat as a rarity, 
and deeming a mouse a delicacy of the season. As for vege- 
tables, there would not have been a flowering plant in all 
Genoa if tulip and ranunculous roots had not been bitter as 
aloes. These seem very inhospitable confessions, but I 
make them the more freely since I am about to treat you en 
gourmet. Come in now, and acknowledge that juniper bark 
isn’t bad coffee, and that commissary bread is not to be 
thought of ‘lightly.’” 

In this fashion did my comrade invite me to a meal, which, 
even with this preface, was far more miserable and scanty 
than I looked for. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


A NOVEL COUNCIL OF WAR. 

I 

I had scarcely finished my breakfast when a group of officers 
rode up to our quarters to visit me. My arrival had already 
created an ifnmense sensation in the city, and all kinds of 
rumors were afloat as to the tidings I had brought. The 
meagreness of the information would, indeed, have seemed in 
strong contrast to the enterprise and hazard of the escape, 
had I not the craft to eke it out by that process of suggestion 
and speculation in which I was rather an adept. 

Little in substance as my information was, all the younger 
officers were in favor of acting upon it. “ The English are 
no bad judges of our position and chances,” was the constant 
argument. ‘ ‘ They see exactly how we stand ; they know 
the relative forces of our army and the enemy’s ; ” and if the 
“cautious islanders” — such was the phrase — advised a 
coup de main , it surely must have much in its favor. I lay 
stress upon the remark, trifling as it may seem ; but it is 
curious to know that with all the immense successes of Eng- 
land on sea, her reputation at that time among Frenchmen 
was rather for prudent and well-matured undertakings, than 
for those daring enterprises which are as much the character 
of her courage. 

My visitors continued to pour in during the morning, 
officers of every arm and rank, — some from mere idle curi- 
osity, some to question and interrogate, and not a few to 
solve doubts in their mind as to my being really French and 
a soldier, and not an agent of that perfide Albion ” whose 
treachery was become a proverb amongst us. Many were 
disappointed at my knowing so little. I neither could tell 
the date of Napoleon’s passing St. Gothard, nor the amount 
of his force ; neither knew I whether he meant to turn east- 


A NOVEL COUNCIL OF WAR. 


349 


ward towards the plains of Lombardy, or march direct to the 
relief of Genoa. Of Moreau’s successes in Germany, too, 
I had only heard vaguely, and of course could recount 
nothing. I could overhear, occasionally, around and about 
me, the murmurs of dissatisfaction my ignorance called forth, 
and was not a little grateful to an old artillery captain for 
saying, 4 4 That ’s the very best thing about the lad ; a spy 
would have had his whole lesson by heart.” 

“You are right, sir,” cried I, catching at the words. 44 1 
may know but little, and that little, perhaps, valueless and 
insignificant ; but my truth no man shall gainsay.” 

The boldness of this speech from one wasted and miserable 
as I was, with tattered shoes and ragged clothes, caused a 
hearty laugh, in which, as much from policy as feeling, I 
joined myself. 

44 Come here, mon cher ,” said an infantry colonel, as, 
walking to the door of the room, he drew his telescope from 
his pocket ; 44 you tell us of a coup de main — on the Monte 
Faccio, is it not?” 

44 Yes,” replied I, promptly, 44 so I understand the name.” 

44 Well, have you ever seen the place? ” 

44 Never.” 

“Well, there it is yonder; ” and he handed me his glass 
as he spoke ; 4 4 you see that large beetling cliff, with the 
olives at the foot. There, on the summit, stands the Monte 
Faccio. The road — the pathway rather, and a steep one it 
is — leads up where you see those goats feeding, and crosses 
in front of the crag, directly beneath the fire of the batteries. 
There ’s not a spot on the whole ascent where three men 
could march abreast ; and wherever there is any shelter from 
fire, the guns of the Sprona, that small fort to the right, take 
the whole position. What do you think of your counsel 
now ? ” 

44 You forget, sir, it is not my counsel. I merely repeat 
what I overheard.” 

4 4 And do you mean to say that the men who gave that 
advice were serious, or capable of adopting it themselves? ” 

44 Most assuredly ; they would never recommend to others 
what they felt unequal to themselves. I know these English 
well, and so much will I say of them.” 


350 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“Bah! ” cried he, with an insolent gesture of his hand, 
and turned away ; and I could plainly see that my praises of 
the enemy were very ill taken. In fact, my unlucky burst 
of generosity had done more to damage my credit than all 
the dangerous or impracticable features of my scheme. 
Every eye was turned to the bold precipice and the stern 
fortress that crowned it, and all agreed that an attack must 
be hopeless. 

I saw, too late, the great fault I had committed, and that 
nothing could be more wanting in tact than to suggest to 
Frenchmen an enterprise which Englishmen deemed practi- 
cable, and which yet to the former seemed beyond all reach 
of success. The insult was too palpable and too direct ; but 
to retract was impossible, and I had now to sustain a 
proposition which gave offence on every side. 

It was very mortifying to me to see how soon all my 
personal credit was merged in this unhappy theory. No 
one thought more of my hazardous escape, the perils I 
encountered, or the sufferings I had undergone. All that 
was remembered of me was the affront I had offered to the 
national courage, and the preference I had implied to 
English bravery. 

Never did I pass a more tormenting day. New arrivals 
continually refreshed the discussion, and always with the 
same results ; and although some were satisfied to convey 
their opinions by a shake of the head or a dubious smile, 
others, more candid than civil, plainly intimated that if I 
had nothing of more consequence to tell, I might as well 
have stayed where I was, and not added one more to a 
garrison so closely pressed by hunger. Very little more of 
such reasoning would have persuaded myself of its truth, 
and I almost began to wish that I was once more back in the 
sick bay of the frigate. 

Towards evening I was left alone ; my host went down to 
the town on duty ; and after the visit of a tailor, who came 
to try on me a staff uniform, — a distinction, I afterwards 
learned, owing to the abundance of this class of costume, and 
not to any claims I could prefer to the rank, — I was per- 
fectly free to stroll about where I pleased unmolested, and, 
no small blessing, unquestioned. 


A NOVEL COUNCIL OF WAR. 


351 


On following along the walls for some distance, I came to 
a part where a succession of deep ravines opened at the foot 
of the bastions, conducting by many a tortuous and rocky 
glen to the Apennines. The sides of these gorges were 
dotted here and there with wild hollies and fig-trees, stunted 
and ill- thriven, as the nature of the soil might imply. 
Still, for the sake of the few berries or the sapless fruit 
they bore, the soldiers of the garrison were accustomed to 
creep out from the embrasures and descend the steep cliffs, — 
a peril great enough in itself, but terribly increased by the 
risk of exposure to the enemy’s Tirailleurs, as well as the 
consequences such indiscipline would bring down on them. 

So frequent, however, had been these infractions that 
little footpaths were worn bare along the face of the cliff, 
traversing in many a zigzag a surface that seemed like a 
wall. It was almost incredible that men would brave such 
peril for so little, but famine had rendered them indifferent 
to death; and although debility exhibited itself in every 
motion and gesture, the men would stand unshrinking and 
undismayed beneath the fire of a battery. At one spot 
near the angle of a bastion, and where some shelter from 
the north winds protected the place, a little clump of orange- 
trees stood, and towards these, though fully a mile off, many 
a foot- track led, showing how strong had been the temptation 
in that quarter. To reach it, the precipice should be 
traversed, the gorge beneath and a considerable ascent of 
the opposite mountain accomplished ; and yet all these 
dangers had been successfully encountered, merely instigated 
by hunger ! 

High above this very spot, at a distance of perhaps eight 
hundred feet, stood the Monte Faccio, — the large black and 
yellow banner of Austria floating from its walls, as if amid 
the clouds. I could see the muzzles of the great guns 
protruding from the embrasures ; and I could even catch 
glances of a tall bearskin, as some soldier passed or repassed 
behind the parapet, and I thought how terrible would be the 
attempt to storm such a position. It was, indeed, true that 
if I had the least conception of the strength of the fort, I 
never should have dared to talk of a coup de main. Still, I 
was in a manner pledged to the suggestion. I had perilled 


852 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


my life for it, and few men do as much for an opinion ; for 
this reason I resolved, come what would, to maintain my 
ground and hold fast to my conviction. I never could be 
called upon to plan the expedition, nor could it by any 
possibility be confided to my guidance ; responsibility could 
not, therefore, attach to me. All these were strong argu- 
ments, at least quite strong enough to decide a wavering 
judgment. 

Meditating on these things, I strolled back to my quarters. 
As I entered the garden I found that several officers were 
assembled, among whom was Colonel de Barre, the brother 
of the general of that name who afterwards fell at the 
Borodino. He was clief d’etat major to Massena, and a 
most distinguished and brave soldier. U nlike the fashion of 
the day, which made the military man affect the rough 
coarseness of a savage, seasoning his talk with oaths and 
curses and low expressions, De Barre had something of the 
petit maitre in his address, which nothing short of his well- 
proved courage would have saved from ridicule. His voice 
was low and soft, his smile perpetual ; and although well- 
bred enough to have been dignified and easy, a certain 
fidgety impulse to be pleasing made him always appear 
affected and unnatural. Never was there such a contrast to 
his chief ; but indeed it was said that to this very disparity 
of temperament he owed all the influence he possessed over 
Massena’s mind. 

I might have been a general of division at the very least, 
to judge from the courteous deference of the salute with 
which he approached me, — a politeness the more striking, as 
all the others immediately fell back, to leave us to converse 
together. I was actually overcome with the flattering terms 
in which he addressed me on the subject of my escape. 

“ I could scarcely at first credit the story,” said he, “ but 
when they told me that you were a ‘ Ninth man,’ one of the 
old Tapageurs, I never doubted it more. You see what a 
bad character is, Monsieur de Tiernay ! ” It was the first 
time I had ever heard the prefix to my name, and I own the 
sound was pleasurable. “ I served a few months with your 
corps myself, but I soon saw there was no chance of pro- 
motion among fellows all more eager than myself for dis- 


A NOVEL COUNCIL OF WAR. 353 

tinction. Well, sir, it is precisely to this reputation I have 
yielded my credit, and to which General Massena is kind 
enough to concede his own confidence. Your advice is about 
to be acted on, Monsieur de Tiernay.” 

44 The coup de main — ” 

44 A little lower, if you please, my dear sir. The 
expedition is to be conducted with every secrecy, even 
from the officers of every rank below a command. Have 
the goodness to walk along with me this way. If I 
understand General Massena aright, your information con- 
veys no details, nor any particular suggestions as to the 
attack.” 

44 None whatever, sir. It was the mere talk of a 
gun-room, — the popular opinion among a set of young 
officers.” 

“I understand,” said he, with a bow and a smile; 44 the 
suggestion of a number of high-minded and daring soldiers 
as to what they deemed practicable.” 

44 Precisely, sir.” 

44 Neither could you collect from their conversation any- 
thing which bore upon the number of the Austrian advance 
guard, or their state of preparation?” 

44 Nothing, sir. The opinion of the English was, I suspect, 
mainly founded on the great superiority of our forces to the 
enemy’s in all attacks of this kind. 

44 Our ‘esprit Tapageur,’ eh?” said he, laughing, and 
pinching my arm familiarly , and I joined in the laugh with 
pleasure. “'Well, Mbnsieur de Tiernay, let us endeavor to 
sustain this good impression. The attempt is to be made 
to-night.” 

“To-night!” exclaimed I, in amazement; for everything 
within the city seemed tranquil and still. 

“To-night, sir; and, by the kind favor of General 
Massena, I am to lead the attack ; the reserve, if we are ever 
to want it, being under his own command. It js to be at 
your own option on which staff you will serve. 

44 On yours, of course, sir,” cried 1, hastily. 44 A man who 
stands unknown and unvouched for among his comrades, as 
I do, has but one way to vindicate his claim to credit, by 
partaking the peril he counsels.” 


854 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“There could be no doubt either of your judgment or 
the sound reasons for it,” replied the colonel; “the only 
question was, whether you might be unequal to the 
fatigue.” 

“Trust me, sir, you’ll not have to send me to the rear,” 
said I, laughing. 

“ Then you are extra on my staff, Monsieur de Tiernay.” 

As we walked along, he proceeded to give me the details of 
our expedition, which was to be on a far stronger scale than 
I anticipated. Three battalions of infantry, with four light 
batteries and as many squadrons of dragoons, were to form 
the advance. 

“We shall neither want the artillery nor cavalry, except 
to cover a retreat,” said he. “I trust, if it come to that, 
there will not be many of us to protect; but such are the 
general’s orders, and we have but to obey them.” 

With the great events of that night on my memory, it is 
strange that I should retain so accurately in my mind the 
trivial and slight circumstances, which are as fresh before me 
as if they had occurred but yesterday. 

It was about eleven o’clock, of a dark but starry night, 
not a breath of wind blowing, that, passing through a 
number of gloomy, narrow streets, I suddenly found myself 
in the courtyard of the Balbe Palace. A large marble 
fountain was playing in the centre, around which several 
lamps were lighted ; by these I could see that the place was 
crowded with officers, some seated at tables drinking, some 
smoking, and others lounging up and down in conversation. 
Huge loaves of black bread and wicker-covered flasks of 
country wine formed the entertainment ; but even these, to 
judge from the zest of the guests, were no common delicacies. 
At the foot of a little marble group, and before a small table 
with a map on it, sat General Massena himself, in his gray 
over-coat, cutting his bread with a case knife, while he talked 
away to his staff. 

“ These maps are good for nothing, Bressi,” cried he. “ To 
look at them, you ’d say that every road was practicable for 
artillery, and every river passable ; and you find afterwards 
that all these fine chaussees are bypaths, and the rivulets 
downright torrents. Who knows the Chiavari road ? ” 


A NOVEL COUNCIL OF WAR. 


355 


“Giorgio knows it well, sir,” said the officer addressed, 
and who was a young Piedmontese from Massena’s own 
village. 

“ Ah, Birbante ! ” cried the general, “ are you here again? ” 
and he turned laughingly towards a little bandy-legged mon- 
ster, of less than three feet high, who, with a cap stuck 
jauntily on one side of his head, and a wooden sword at 
his side, stepped forward with all the confidence of an 
equal. 

“Ay, here I am,” said he, raising his hand to his cap, 
soldier fashion ; 4 4 there was nothing else for it but this 
trade,” and he placed his hand on the hilt of his wooden 
weapon. 44 You cut down all the mulberries, and left us no 
silkworms ; you burned all the olives, and left us no oil ; you 
trampled down our maize crops and our vines. Per Baccho ! 
the only thing left was to turn brigand like yourself, and see 
what would come of it.” 

4 4 Is he not cool to talk thus to a general at the head of his 
staff? ” said Massena, with an assumed gravity. 

44 1 knew you when you wore a different looking epaulette 
than that there,” said Giorgio, “and when you carried one 
of your father’s meal sacks on your shoulder, instead of all 
that bravery.” 

44 Parbleu ! so he did,” cried Massena, laughing heartily. 
44 That scoundrel was always about our mill, and, I believe, 
lived by thieving ! ” added he, pointing to the dwarf. 

44 Every one did a little that way in our village,” said the 
dwarf ; 44 but none ever profited by his education like your- 
self.” 

If the general and some of the younger officers seemed 
highly amused at the fellow’s impudence and effrontery, some 
of the others looked angry and indignant. A few were really 
wellborn, and could afford to smile at these recognitions ; 
but many who sprung from an origin even more humble than 
the general’s could not conceal their angry indignation at 
the scene. 

44 1 see that these gentlemen are impatient of our vulgar 
recollections,” said Massena, with a sardonic grin; 44 so now 
to business, Giorgio. You know the Chiavari road — what 
is ’t like ? ” 


856 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ Good enough to look at, but mined in four places.” 

The general gave a significant glance at the staff, and bade 
him go on. 

‘ ‘ The white coats are strong in that quarter, and have 
eight guns to bear upon the road where it passes beneath 
Monte Ratte.” 

“ Why, I was told that the pass was undefended ! ” cried 
Massena, angrily; “that a few skirmishers were all that 
could be seen near it.” 

‘ ‘ All that could be seen ! — so they are ; but there are 
eight twelve-pounder guns in the brushwood, with shot and 
shell enough to be seen and felt too.” 

Massena now turned to the officers near him, and conversed 
with them eagerly for some time. The debated point I sub- 
sequently heard was how to make a feint attack on the 
Chiavari road, to mask the coup de main intended for the 
Monte Faccio. To give the false attack any color of reality 
required a larger force and greater preparation than they 
could afford, and this was now the great difficulty. At last 
it was resolved that this should be a mere demonstration, not 
to push far beyond the walls, but, by all the semblance of a 
serious advance, to attract as much attention as possible 
from the enemy. 

Another and a greater embarrassment lay in the fact that 
the troops intended for the coup de main had no other exit 
than the gate which led to Chiavari ; so that the two lines of 
march would intersect and interfere with each other. Could 
we even have passed out our Tirailleurs in advance, the sup- 
port could easily follow ; but the enemy would, of course, 
notice the direction our advance would take, and our object 
be immediately detected. 

“ Why not pass the skirmishers out by the embrasures, to 
the left yonder,” said I; “I see many a track where men 
have gone already.” 

“ It is steep as a wall,” cried one. 

“ And there ’s a breast of rock in front that no foot could 
scale.” 

“ You have at least a thousand feet of precipice above you, 
when you reach the glen, if ever you do reach it alive.” 

“ And this to be done in the darkness of a night ! ” 


A NOVEL COUNCIL OF WAR. 


357 


Such were the discouraging comments which rattled, quick 
as musketry, around me. 

“The lieutenant's right, nevertheless,” said Giorgio. 
“Half the voltigeurs of the garrison know the path well 
already ; and as to darkness — if there were a moon you 
dared not attempt it.” 

“ There ’s some truth in that,” observed an old major. 

“Could you promise to guide them, Giorgio?” said 
Massena. 

“Yes, every step of the way; up to the very walls of the 
fort.” 

“There, then,” cried the general, “one great difficulty is 
got over already.” 

“Not so fast, Generate mio ,” said the dwarf; “I said I 
could, but I never said that I would.” 

“Not for a liberal present, Giorgio; not if I filled that 
leather pouch of yours with five-franc pieces, man ? ” 

“ I might not live to spend it, and I care little for my next 
of kin,” said the dwarf, dryly. 

“ I don’t think that we need his services, General,” said I; 
“I saw the place this evening, and however steep it seems 
from the walls, the descent is practicable enough, — at least 
I am certain that our Tirailleurs, in the Black Forest, would 
never have hesitated about it.” 

I little knew that when I uttered this speech I had sent a 
shot into the very heart of the magazine, the ruling passion of 
Massena’s mind being an almost insane jealousy of Moreau’s 
military fame, — his famous campaign of Southern Germany, 
and his wonderful retreat upon the Rhine, being regarded as 
achievements of the highest order. 

“I’ve got some of those regiments you speak of in my 
brigade here, sir,” said he, addressing himself directly to me, 
‘ 4 and I must own that their discipline reflects but little credit 
on the skill of so great an officer as General Moreau ; and as 
to light troops, I fancy Colonel de Vallence yonder would 
scarcely feel it a flattery were you to tell him to take a lesson 
from them.” 

“ I have just been speaking to Colonel de Vallence, 
General,” said Colonel de Barre. “ He confirms everything 
Monsieur de Tiernay tells us of the practicable nature of 


358 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


these paths ; his fellows have tracked them at all hours, and 
neither want guidance nor direction to go.” 

“ In that case I may as well offer my services,” said 
Giorgio, tightening his belt; “ but I must tell you that it is 
too late to begin to-night, — we must start immediately after 
nightfall. It will take from forty to fifty minutes to descend 
the cliff, a good two hours to climb the ascent, so that you ’ll 
not have much time to spare before daybreak.” 

Giorgio’s opinion was backed by several others, and it was 
finally resolved upon that the attempt should be made on the 
following evening. Meanwhile the dwarf was committed to 
the safe custody of a sergeant, affectedly to look to his 
proper care and treatment, but really to guard against any 
imprudent revelations that he might make respecting the 
intended attack. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


GENOA DURING THE SIEGE. 

If the natural perils of the expedition were sufficient to 
suggest grave thoughts, the sight of the troops that were to 
form it was even a stronger incentive to fear. I could not 
believe my eyes, as I watched the battalions which now 
deployed before me. Always accustomed, whatever the 
hardships they were opposed to, to see French soldiers light- 
hearted, gay, and agile, performing their duties in a spirit 
of sportive pleasure, as if soldiering were but fun, — what 
was the shock I received at sight of these care-worn, down- 
cast, hollow-cheeked fellows, dragging their legs wearily 
along, and scarcely seeming to hear the words of command. 
Their clothes patched and mended, sometimes too big, some- 
times too little, showing that they had changed wearers 
without being altered ; their tattered shoes, tied on with 
strings round the ankles ; their very weapons dirty and un- 
cared for, — they resembled rather a horde of bandits than 
the troops of the first army of Europe. There was, besides, 
an expression of stealthy, treacherous ferocity in their faces 
such as I never saw before. To this pitiable condition had 
they been brought by starvation. Not alone the horses had 
been eaten, but dogs and cats ; even the vermin of the cellars 
and sewers was consumed as food. Leather and skins were 
all eagerly devoured ; and there is but too terrible reason to 
believe that human flesh itself was used to prolong for a few 
hours this existence of misery. 

As they defiled into the Piazza, there seemed a kind of 
effort to assume the port and bearing of their craft; and 
although man} 7 stumbled and some actually fell from weak- 
ness, there was an evident attempt to put on a military 
appearance. The manner of the adjutant, as he passed down 


360 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


the line, revealed at once the exact position of affairs. No 
longer inspecting every little detail of equipment, criticising 
this or remarking on that, his whole attention was given to 
the condition of the musket, whose lock he closely scruti- 
nized, and then turned to the cartouch-box. The ragged 
uniforms, the uncouth shakos, the belts dirty and awry, never 
called forth a word of rebuke. Too glad, as it seemed, to 
recognize even the remnants of discipline, he came back 
from his inspection apparently well satisfied and content. 

“These fellows turn out well,” said Colonel de Barre, as 
he looked along the line ; and I started to see if the speech 
were an unfeeling jest. Far from it; he spoke in all serious- 
ness ! The terrible scenes he had for months been witness- 
iug — the men dropping from hunger at their posts ; the 
sentries fainting as they carried arms, and borne away to 
the hospital to die ; the bursts of madness that would now 
and then break forth from men whose agony became un- 
endurable — had so steeled him to horrors, that even this 
poor shadow of military display seemed orderly and 
imposing. 

“They are the Twenty-second, Colonel,” replied the 
adjutant, proudly, “ a corps that always have maintained 
their character, whether on parade or under fire ! ” 

“ Ah ! the Twenty-second, are they? They have come up 
from Ronco, then?” 

“Yes, sir; they were all that General Soult could spare 
us.” 

“Fine-looking fellows they are,” said De Barre, scanning 
them through his glass. “ The third company is a little^ a 
very little, to the rear — don’t you perceive it? — and the 
flank is a thought or so restless and unsteady.” 

“ A sergeant has just been carried to the rear ill, sir,” said 
a young officer, in a low voice. 

“ The heat, I have no doubt; a colpo di sole , as they tell 
us everything is,” said De Barre. “ By the way, is not this 
the regiment that boasts the pretty vivandiere ? What ’s this 
her name is ? ” 

“ Lela, sir.” 

“ Yes, to be sure, Lela. I’m sure I’ve heard her toasted 
often enough at cafes and restaurants.” 


GENOA DURING THE SIEGE. 


361 


“ There she is, sir, yonder, sitting on the steps of the 
fountain ; ” and the officer made a sign with his sword for 
the girl to come over. She made an effort to arise at the 
order, but tottered back, and would have fallen if a soldier 
had not caught her. Then suddenly collecting her strength, 
she arranged the folds of her short scarlet jupe, and smooth- 
ing down the braids of her fair hair, came forward, at that 
sliding, half-skipping pace that is the wont of her craft. 

The exertion, and possibly the excitement, had flushed her 
cheek, so that as she came forward her look was brilliantly 
handsome ; but as the color died away, and a livid pallor 
spread over her jaws, lank and drawn in by famine, her 
expression was dreadful. The large eyes, lustrous and 
wild-looking, gleamed with the fire of fever, while her thin 
nostrils quivered at each respiration. 

Poor girl ! even then, with famine and fever eating within 
her, the traits of womanly vanity still survived, and as she 
carried her hand to her cap in salute, she made a faint at- 
tempt at a smile ! 

“ The Twenty-second may indeed be proud of their 
vivandiere,” said De Barre, gallantly. “What hast in the 
tonnelet , Lela? ” continued he, tapping the little silver-hooped 
barrel she carried at her back. 

“ Ah, que voulez vous?” cried she, laughing, with a low, 
husky sound, — the laugh of famine. 

“ I must have a glass of it to your health, ma belle Lela, 
if it cost me a crown piece ; ” and he drew forth the coin as 
he spoke. 

“ For such a toast the liquor is quite good enough,” said 
Lela, drawing back at the offer of money ; while slinging the 
little cask in front, she unhooked a small silver cup, and 
filled it with water. 

“No brandy, Lela?” 

“None, colonel,” said she, shaking her head; “and if I 
had, those poor fellows yonder would not like it so well.” 

“ I understand,” said he, significantly ; “ theirs is the thirst 
of fever.” 

A short, dry cough, and a barely perceptible nod of the 
head, was all her reply ; but their eyes met, and any so sad 
an expression as they interchanged I never beheld ! It 


362 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


was a confession in full of all each had seen of sorrow, of 
suffering, and of death, — the terrible events three months 
of famine had revealed, and all the agonies of pestilence 
and madness. 

“ That is delicious water, Tiernay,” said the colonel, as he 
passed me the cup, and thus trying to get away from the sad 
theme of his thoughts. 

44 I fetch it from a well outside the walls every morning,” 
saidLela; “ay, and within gun-shot of the Austrian sen- 
tries, too.” 

“There’s coolness for you, Tiernay,” said the colonel; 

4 4 think what the Twenty-second are made of when their 
vivandiere dares to do this ! ” 

“They’ll not astonish him,” said Lela, looking steadily 
at me. 

“ And why not, ma belle?” cried De Barre. 

“ He was a Tapageur, one of the 4 Naughty Ninth,’ as 
they called them.” 

4 4 How do you know that, Lela ? Have we ever met be- 
fore?” cried I, eagerly. 

“I’ve seen you, sir,” said she, slyly. “They used to 
call you the corporal that won the battle of Kehl. I know 
my father always said so.” 

I would have given worlds to have interrogated her fur- 
ther ; so fascinating is selfishness, that already at least a hun- 
dred questions were presenting themselves to my mind. Who 
could Lela be, and who was her father, and what were these 
reports about me ? Had I really won fame without knowing 
it, and did my comrades indeed speak of me with honor? 
All these, and many more inquiries, were pressing for 
utterance, as General Massena walked up with his staff. 
The general fully corroborated De Barre’s opinion of the 
Twenty-second. They were, as he expressed it, a “magni- 
ficent body.” 44 It was a perfect pleasure to see such troops 
under arms.” 44 Those fellows certainly exhibited few traces 
of a starved-out garrison.” 

Such and such like were the jesting observations ban- 
died from one to the other, in all the earnest seriousness of 
truth ! What more terrible evidence of the scenes they had 
passed through than these convictions ! What more stun- 


GENOA DURING THE SIEGE. 


363 


ning proof of the condition to which long suffering had re- 
duced them ! * 

“Where is our pleasant friend, who talked to us of the 
Black Forest last night? Ah, there he is; well, Monsieur 
Tiernay, do you think General Moreau’s people turned out 
better than that after the retreat from Donaueschingen ? ” 

There was no need for any reply, since the scornful burst 
of laughter of the staff already gave the answer he wanted ; 
and now he walked forward to the centre of the Piazza, 
while the troops proceeded to march past. 

The band, a miserable group, reduced from fifty to thir- 
teen in number, struck up a quick step, and the troops, 
animated by the sounds, and more still perhaps by Mas- 
sena’s presence, made an effort to step out in quick time; 
but the rocking, wavering motion, the clinking muskets and 
uncertain gait, were indescribably painful to a soldier’s eye. 
Their colonel, De Vallence, however, evidently did not regard 
them thus ; for as he joined the staff, he received the gene- 
ral’s compliments with all the good faith and composure in 
the world. 

The battalions were marched off to barracks, and the group 
of officers broke up to repair to their several quarters. It 
was the hour of dinner, but it had been many a day since 
that meal had been heard of amongst them. A stray cafe 
here and there was open in the city ; but a cup of coffee with- 
out milk, and a small roll of black bread, a horrid compound 
of rye and cocoa, was all the refreshment obtainable, and 
yet I am bold to say that a murmur or a complaint was 
unheard against the general or the government. The heaviest 
reverses, the gloomiest hours of ill fortune, never extinguished 
the hope that Genoa was to be relieved at last, and that all 
we had to do was to hold out for the arrival of Bonaparte. 
To the extent of this conviction is to be attributed the wide 
disparity between the feeling displayed by the military and 
the townsfolk. 

The latter, unsustained by hope, without one spark of 
speculation to cheer their gloomy destiny, starved and 
sickened and died in masses. The very requirements of 
discipline were useful in averting the despondent vacuity 
which comes of hunger. Of the sanguine confidence of the 


364 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


soldiery in the coming of their comrades, I was to witness a 
strong illustration on the very day of which ' I have been 
speaking. 

It was about four o’clock in the afternoon ; the weather had 
been heavy and overcast and the heat excessive, so that all 
who were free from duty had either lain down to sleep or 
were quietly resting within doors, when a certain stir and 
movement in the streets, a rare event during the hours of the 
siesta, drew many a head to the windows. The report ran, 
and like wildfire it spread through the city, that the advanced 
guard of Bonaparte had reached Ronco that morning, and 
were already in march on Genoa ! Although nobody could 
trace this story to any direct source, each believed and 
repeated it, the tale growing more consistent and fuller at 
every repetition. I need not weary my reader with all the 
additions and corrections the narrative received, nor recount 
how now it was Moreau with the right wing of the army of 
the Rhine, now it was Kellermann’s brigade, now it was 
Macdonald, who had passed the Ticino; and last of all, 
Bonaparte. The controversy was often even an angry one, 
when, finally, all speculation was met by the official report 
that all that was known lay in the simple fact that heavy 
guns had been heard that morning near Ronco ; and as the 
Austrians held no position with artillery there, the firing 
must needs be French. 

This very bare announcement was, of course, a great “ come 
down ” for all the circumstantial detail with which we had 
been amusing ourselves and each other ; but yet it nourished 
hope, and the hope that was nearest to all our hearts, too. 
The streets were soon filled; officers and soldiers hastily 
dressed, and with many a fault of costume were all com- 
mingled, exchanging opinions, resolving doubts, and even 
bandying congratulations. The starved and hungry faces 
were lighted up with an expression of savage glee. It was 
like the last flickering gleam of passion in men, whose whole 
vitality was the energy of fever. The heavy debt they owed 
their enemy was at last to be paid, and all the insulting injury 
of a besieged and famine-stricken garrison to be avenged. A 
surging movement in the crowd told that some event had 
occurred : it was Massena and his staff, who were proceeding 


GENOA DURING THE SIEGE. 


365 


to a watch-tower in the bastion, from whence a wide range 
of country could be seen. This was reassuring. The general 
himself entertained the story, and here was proof that there 
was “ something in it.” All the population now made for the 
walls ; every spot from which the view towards Ronco could 
be obtained was speedily crowded, every window filled, and 
all the housetops crammed. A dark mass of inky cloud 
covered the tops of the Apennines, and even descended to 
some distance down the sides. With what shapes and forms 
of military splendor did our imaginations people the space 
behind that sombre curtain ! What columns of stern warriors, 
what prancing squadrons, what earth-shaking masses of heavy 
artillery ! How longingly each eye grew weary watching, — 
waiting for the veil to be rent, and the glancing steel to be 
seen glistening bright in the sun-rays ! 

As if to torture our anxieties, the lowering mass grew 
darker and heavier, and rolling lazily ad own the mountain, it 
filled up the valley, wrapping earth and sky in one murky 
mantle. 

“There! did you hear that?” cried one; “that was 
artillery.” 

A pause followed, each ear was bent to listen, and not a 
word was uttered for full a minute or more ; the immense 
host, as if swayed by the one impulse, strained to catch the 
sounds, when suddenly, from the direction of the mountain 
top, there came a rattling, crashing noise, followed by the 
dull, deep booming that every soldier’s heart responds to. 
What a cheer then burst forth! Never did I hear — never 
may I hear — such a cry as that was ; it was like the wild yell 
of a shipwrecked crew, as some distant sail hove in sight ; and 
yet, through its cadence, there rang the mad lust for ven- 
geance ! Yes, in all the agonies of sinking strength, with fever 
in their hearts, and the death sweat on their cheeks, their cry 
was Blood ! The puny shout, for such it seemed now, was 
drowned in the deafening crash that now was heard ; peal 
after peal shook the air, the same rattling, peppering noise of 
musketry continuing through all. 

That the French were in strong force, as well as the enemy, 
there could now be no doubt. Nothing but a serious affair 
and a stubborn resistance could warrant such a fire. It had 


366 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


every semblance of an attack with all arms. The roar of the 
heavy guns made the air vibrate, and the clatter of small 
arms was incessant. How each of us filled up the picture 
from the impulses of his own fancy ! Some said that the 
French were still behind the mountain, and storming the 
heights of the Borghetto ; others thought that they had 
gained the summit, but not en force , and were only contesting 
their position there ; and a few, more sanguine, of whom I 
was one myself, imagined that they were driving the Austri- 
ans down the Apennines, cleaving their ranks, as they went, 
with their artillery. 

Each new crash, every momentary change of direction of 
the sounds, favored this opinion or that, and the excitement 
of partisanship rose to an immense height. What added 
indescribably to the interest of the scene w'as a group of 
Austrian officers on horseback, who in their eagerness to 
obtain tidings had ridden beyond their lines, and were now 
standing almost within musket range of us. We could see 
that their telescopes were turned to the eventful spot, and we 
gloried to think of the effect the scene must have been pro- 
ducing on them. 

“ They ’ve seen enough ! ” cried one of our fellows, laugh- 
ing, while he pointed to the horsemen, who, suddenly wheel- 
ing about, galloped back to their camp at full speed. 

“ You’ll have the drums beat to arms now; there’s little 
time to lose. Our cuirassiers will soon be upon them,” cried 
another in ecstasy. 

“ No, but the rain will, and upon us, too,” said Giorgio, 
who had now come up. “ Don’t you see that it ’s not a battle 
yonder, it’s a borasco. There it comes.” And as if the out- 
stretched finger of the dwarf had been the wand of a magi- 
cian, the great cloud was suddenly torn open with a crash, 
and the rain descended like a deluge, swept along by a hurri- 
cane wind, coming in vast sheets of water, while high over 
our heads, and moving onward towards the sea, growled the 
distant thunder. The great mountain was now visible from 
base to summit, but not a soldier, not a gun, to be seen ! 
Swollen and yellow, the gushing torrents leaped madly from 
crag to crag, and crashing trees and falling rocks added their 
wild sounds to the tumult. 


GENOA DURING THE SIEGE. 


367 


There we stood, mute and sorrow-struck, regardless of the 
seething rain, unconscious of anything save our disappoint- 
ment. The hope we built upon had left us, and the dreary 
scene of storm around seemed but a type of our own future ! 
And yet we could not turn away, but with eyes strained and 
aching, gazed at the spot from where our succor should have 
come. 

I looked up at the watch-tower, and there was Massena 
still, his arms folded on a battlement ; he seemed to be deep 
in thought. At last he arose, and drawing his cloak across 
his face, descended the winding-stair outside the tower. His 
step was slow, and more than once he halted as if to think. 
When he reached the walls, he walked rapidly on, his suite 
following him. 

“ Ah, Monsieur Tiernay,” said he, as he passed me, “ you 
know what an Apennine storm is now but it will cool the 
air, and give us delicious weather ; ” and so he passed on with 
an easy smile. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


MONTE DI FACCIO. 

The disappointment we had suffered was not the only cir- 
cumstance adverse to our expedition. The rain had now 
swollen the smallest rivulets to the size of torrents ; in many 
places the patha would be torn away and obliterated, and 
everywhere the difficulty of a night march enormously in- 
creased. Giorgio, however, who was perhaps afraid of for- 
feiting his reward, assured the general that these mountain 
streams subside even more rapidly than they rise ; that such 
was the dryness of the soil no trace of rain would be seen by 
sunset, and that we should have a calm, starry night, — the 
very thing we wanted for our enterprise. 

We did not need persuasion to believe all he said ; the 
opinion chimed in with our own wishes, and, better still, was 
verified to the very letter by a glorious afternoon. Land- 
ward, the spectacle was perfectly enchanting; the varied 
foliage of the Apennines, refreshed by the rain, glittered and 
shone in the sun’s rays, while in the bay the fleet, with sails 
hung out to dry, presented a grand and an imposing sight. 
Better than all, Monte Faccio now appeared quite near us ; 
we could even with the naked eye perceive all the defences, 
and were able to detect a party of soldiers at work outside 
the walls, clearing, as it seemed, some watercourse that had 
been impeded by the storm. Unimportant as the labor was, 
we watched it anxiously, for we thought that perhaps before 
another sunset many a brave fellow’s blood might dye that 
earth. During the whole of that day, from some cause or 
other, not a shot had been fired either from the land-batteries 
or the fleet ; and as though a truce had been agreed to, we 
sat watching each other’s movements peacefully and calmly. 

“ The Austrians would seem to have been as much deceived 
as ourselves, sir,” said an old artillery sergeant to me, as I 
strolled along the walls at nightfall. “ The pickets last night 


MONTE DI FACCIO. 


369 


were close to the glacis ; but see, now they have fallen back 
a gun-shot or more.” 

“ But they have had time enough since to resume their old 
position,” said I, half doubting the accuracy of the surmise. 

“Time enough, parbleu! I should think so too! but 
when the white-coats manoeuvre, they write to Vienna to ask, 
‘ What ’s to be done next ? ’ ” 

This passing remark, in which with all its exaggeration 
there lay a germ of truth, was the universal judgment of our 
soldiers on those of the imperial army ; and to the prevalence 
of the notion may be ascribed much of that fearless indiffer- 
ence with which small divisions of ours attacked whole army 
corps of the enemy. Bonaparte was the first to point out 
this slowness, and to turn it to the best advantage. 

“ If our general ever intended a sortie, this would be the 
night for it, sir,” resumed he ; “ the noise of those mountain 
streams would mask the sounds of a march, and even cavalry, 
if led with caution, might be in upon them before they were 
aware.” 

This speech pleased me, not only for the judgment it con- 
veyed, but as an assurance that our expedition was still a 
secret in the garrison. 

On questioning the sergeant further, I was struck to find 
that he had abandoned utterly all hope of ever seeing France 
again ; such he told me was the universal feeling of the 
soldiery. “We know well, sir, that Massena is not the man 
to capitulate, and we cannot expect to be relieved.” And 
yet with this stern, comfortless conviction on their minds, 
with hunger and famine and pestilence on every side, they 
never uttered one word of complaint, not even a murmur of 
remonstrance. What would Moreau’s fellows say of us? 
What would the army of the Meuse think ? These were the 
ever-present arguments against surrender ; and the judgment 
of their comrades was far more terrible to them than the 
grape-shot of the enemy. 

“ But do you not think, when Bonaparte crosses the Alps, 
he will hasten to our relief?” 

“ Not he, sir ! I know him well. I was in the same troop 
with him, a bombardier at the same gun. Bonaparte will 
never go after small game where there ’s a nobler prey before 
him. If he does cross the Alps, he ’ll be for a great battle 

24 


370 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


under Milan; or, mayhap, "march on Venice. He’s not 
thinking of our starved battalions here ; he ’s planning some 
great campaign, depend on it. He never faced the Alps to 
succor Genoa.” 

How true was this appreciation of the great general’s 
ambition I need scarcely repeat ; but so it was at the time. 
Many were able to guess the bold aspirings of one who, to 
the nation, seemed merely one among the numerous candi- 
dates for fame and honors. 

It was about an hour after my conversation with the ser- 
geant that an orderly came to summon me to Colonel de 
Barre’s quarters ; and with all my haste to obey, I only 
arrived as the column was formed. The plan of attack was 
simple enough. Three Voltigeur companies were to attempt 
the assault of the Monte Faccio, under De Barre ; while, to 
engage attention and draw off the enemy’s force, a strong 
body of infantry and cavalry was to debouch on the Chiavari 
road, as though to force a passage in that direction. In all 
that regarded secrecy and despatch our expedition was per- 
fect ; and as we moved silently through the streets, the sleep- 
ing citizens never knew of our march. Arrived at the gate, 
the column halted to give us time to pass along the walls 
and descend the glen, — an operation which, it was estimated, 
would take forty-five minutes ; at the expiration of this they 
were to issue forth to the feint attack. 

At a quick step we now pressed forward towards the angle 
of the bastion, whence many a path led down the cliff in all 
directions. Half a dozen of our men, well acquainted with 
the spot, volunteered as guides ; and the muskets being slung 
on the back, the word was given to u move on,” the rallying- 
place being the plateau of the orange-trees I have already 
mentioned. 

“ Steep enough this,” said De Barre to me, as, holding on 
by briars and brambles, we slowly descended the gorge ; 
“ but few of us will ever climb it again.” 

“ You think so? ” asked I, in some surprise. 

“ Of course, I know it,” said he. “ Vallence, who com- 
mands the battalions below, always condemned the scheme ; 
rely on it, he’s not the man to make himself out a false 
prophet. I don’t pretend to tell you that in our days of 
monarchy there were neither jealousies nor party grudges, 


MONTE DI FACCIO. 


371 


and that men were above all small and ungenerous rivalry ; 
but, assuredly, we had less of them than now. If the field 
of competition is more open to every one, so are the arts by 
which success is won ; a pre-eminence in a republic means 
always the ruin of a rival. If we fail, as fail we must, he ’ll 
be a general.” 

“ But why must we fail? ” 

44 For every reason : we are not in force ; we know noth- 
ing of what we are about to attack ; and, if repulsed, have 
no retreat behind us.” 

4 4 Then why — ” 

I stopped, for already I saw the impropriety of my 
question. 

44 Why did I advise the attack?” said he, mildly, taking 
up my half-uttered question. 44 Simply because death out- 
side these walls is quicker and more glorious than within 
them. There ’s scarcely a man who follows us has not the 
same sentiment in his heart. The terrible scenes of the 
last five weeks have driven our fellows to all but mutiny. 
Nothing, indeed, maintained discipline but a kind of tigerish 
thirst for vengeance, — a hope that the day of reckoning 
would come round, and one fearful lesson teach these same 
white-coats how dangerous it is to drive a brave enemy to 
despair.” 

De Barre continued to talk in this strain as we descended, 
every remark he made being uttered with all the coolness 
of one who talked of a matter indifferent to him. At length 
the way became too steep for much converse, and slipping 
and scrambling, we now only interchanged a chance word as 
we went. Although two hundred and fifty men were around 
and about us, not a voice was heard ; and except the occa- 
sional breaking of a branch, or the occasional fall of some 
heavy stone into the valley, not a sound was heard. At 
length a long shrill whistle announced that the first man had 
reached the bottom, which, to judge from the faintness of 
the sound, appeared yet a considerable distance off. The 
excessive darkness increased the difficulty of the way, and 
De Barre continued to repeat 4 4 that we had certainly been 
misinformed, and that even in daylight the descent would 
take an hour.” 

It was full half an hour after this when we came to a small 


372 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


rivulet, the little boundary line between the two steep cliffs. 
Here our men were all assembled, refreshing themselves with 
the water, still muddy from recent rain, and endeavoring to 
arrange equipments and arms, damaged and misplaced by 
many a fall. 

“We’ve taken an hour and twenty-eight minutes,” said 
De Barre, as he placed a fire-fly on the glass of his watch, to 
see the hour. “Now, men, let us make up for lost time. 
En avant!” 

“ En avant!” was quickly passed from mouth to mouth, 
and never was a word more spirit-stirring to Frenchmen ! 
With all the alacrity of men fresh and “ eager for the fray,” 
they began the ascent, and such was the emulous ardor to be 
first that it assumed all the features of a race. 

A close pine-wood greatly aided us now, and in less time 
than we could believe it possible we reached the plateau 
appointed for our rendezvous. This being the last spot of 
meeting before our attack on the fort, the final dispositions 
were here settled on, and the orders for the assault arranged. 
With daylight, the view from this terrace, for such it was in 
reality, would have been magnificent ; for even now, in the 
darkness, we could track out the great thoroughfares of 
the city, follow the windings of the bay and harbor, and, by 
the lights on board, detect the fleet as it lay at anchor. To 
the left, and for many a mile as it seemed, were seen twink- 
ling the bivouac fires of the Austrian army ; while directly 
above our heads, glittering like a red star, shone the solitary 
gleam that marked out the Monte Faccio. 

I was standing silently at De Barre’s side, looking on this 
sombre scene so full of terrible interest, when he clutched 
my arm violently, and whispered, — 

“ Look yonder ! see, the attack has begun ! ” 

The fire of the artillery had flashed as he spoke, and now, 
with his very words, the deafening roar of the guns was 
heard from below. 

“ I told you he ’d not wait for us, Tiernay ! I told you how 
it would happen ! ” cried he ; then suddenly recovering his 
habitual composure of voice and manner, he said, “ Now for 
our part, men ; forwards ! ” 

And away went the brave fellows, tearing up the steep 
mountain side like an assault party at a breach. Though 


MONTE DI FACCIO. 


373 


hidden from our view by the darkness and the dense wood, 
we could hear the incessant din of large and small arms ; the 
roll of the drums summoning men to their quarters, and what 
we thought were the cheers of charging squadrons. 

Such was the mad feeling of excitement these sounds pro- 
duced that I cannot guess what time elapsed before we found 
ourselves on the crest of the mountain, and not above three 
hundred paces from the outworks of the fort. The trees had 
been cut away on either side so as to offer a species of glacis, 
and this must be crossed under the fire of the batteries 
before an attack could be commenced. Fortunately for us, 
however, the garrison was too confident of its security to 
dread a coup de main from the side of the town, and had 
placed all their guns along the bastion towards Borghetto ; 
and this De Barre immediately detected. A certain “ alert” 
on the walls, however, and a quick movement of lights here 
and there, showed that they had become aware of the sortie 
from the town, and gradually we could see figure after figure 
ascending the walls as if to peer down into the valley 
beneath. 

“ You see what Vallence has done for us,” said De Barre, 
bitterly; “ but for him we should have taken these fellows 
en flagrant delit , and carried their walls before they could 
turn out a captain’s guard.” 

As he spoke, a heavy crashing sound was heard and a wild 
cheer. Already our pioneers had gained the gate, and were 
battering away at it ; another party had reached the walls 
and thrown up their rope-ladders, and the attack was opened ! 
In fact, Giorgio had led one division by a path somewhat 
shorter than ours, and they had begun the assault before we 
issued from the pine- wood. 

We now came up at a run, but under a smart fire from the 
walls, already fast crowding with men. Defiling close 
beneath the wall, we gained the gate just as it had fallen 
beneath the assaults of our men ; a steep covered way led up 
from it, and along this our fellows rushed madly ; but sud- 
denly from the gloom a red glare flashed out, and a terrible 
discharge of grape swept all before it. “ Lie down! ” was 
now shouted from front to rear ; but even before the order 
could be obeyed another and more fatal volley followed. 

Twice we attempted to storm the ascent ; but wearied by 


3T4 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


the labor of the mountain pass, worn out by fatigue, and, 
worse still, weak from actual starvation, our men faltered ! 
It was not fear, nor was there anything akin to it ; for even 
as they fell under the thick fire their shrill cheers breathed 
stern defiance. They were utterly exhausted, and failing 
strength could do no more ! De Barre took the lead, sword 
in hand, and with one of those wild appeals that soldiers 
never hear in vain, addressed them ; but the next moment 
his shattered corpse was carried to the rear. The scaling 
party, alike repulsed, had now defiled to our support; but 
the death-dealing artillery swept through us without ceasing. 
Never was there a spectacle so terrible as to see men ani- 
mated by courageous devotion, burning with glorious zeal, 
and yet powerless from very debility, actually dropping from 
the weakness of famine, — the staggering step, the faint shout, 
the powerless charge, all showing the ravages of pestilence 
and want ! 

Some sentiment of compassion must have engaged our 
enemies’ sympathy, for twice they relaxed their fire, and only 
resumed it as we returned to the attack. One fearful dis- 
charge of grape, at pistol range, now seemed to have closed 
the struggle ; and as the smoke cleared away, the earth was 
seen crowded with dead and dying. The broken ranks no 
longer showed discipline ; men gathered in groups around 
their wounded comrades, and, to all seeming, were indiffer- 
ent to the death that menaced them. Scarcely an officer 
survived ; and among the dead beside me I recognized 
Giorgio, who still knelt in the attitude in which he had 
received his death-wound. 

I was like one in some terrible dream, powerless and 
terror-stricken, as I stood thus amid the slaughtered and the 
wounded. 

“ Yon are my prisoner,” said a gruff-looking old Croat 
grenadier, as he snatched my sword from my hand by a 
smart blow on the wrist ; and I yielded without a word. 

“ Is it over? ” said I ; “ is it over? ” 

“Yes, parbleu! I think it is,” said a comrade, whose 
cheek was hanging down from a bayonet wound. “ There 
are not twenty of us remaining, and they will do very little 
for the service of the ‘ Great Republic.’ ” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


A ROYALIST “ DE LA YIEILLE ROCHE.” 

On a hot and sultry day of June I found myself seated in a 
country cart, and under the guard of two mounted dragoons 
wending my way towards Kuffstein, a Tyrol fortress, to 
which I was sentenced as a prisoner. A weary journey was 
it ; for, in addition to my now sad thoughts, I had to contend 
against an attack of ague, which I had just caught, and 
which was then raging like a plague in the Austrian camp. 
One solitary reminiscence, and that far from a pleasant one, 
clings to this period. We had halted on the outskirts of a 
little village, called Broletto, for the siesta ; and there, in 
a clump of olives, were quietly dozing away the sultry hours 
when the clatter of horsemen awoke us, and on looking up 
we saw a cavalry escort sweep past at a gallop. The cor- 
poral who commanded our party hurried into the village to 
learn the news, and soon returned with the tidings that “ a 
great victory had been gained over the French, commanded 
by Bonaparte in person ; that the army was in full retreat ; 
and this was the despatch an officer of Melas’ staff was now 
hastening to lay at the feet of the emperor.” 

“ I thought several times this morning,” said the corporal, 
‘ 4 that I heard artillery ; and so it seems I might, for we are 
not above twenty miles from where the battle was fought.” 

44 And how is the place called? ” asked I, in a tone sceptical 
enough to be offensive. 

4 ‘Marengo,” replied he; “mayhap the name will not 
escape your memory.” 

How true was the surmise, but in how different a sense 
from what he uttered it ! But so it was ; even as late as four 
o’clock the victory was with the Austrians. Three separate 
envoys had left the field with tidings of success ; and it was 
only late at night that the general, exhausted by a disastrous 


376 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


day and almost broken-hearted, could write to tell his master 
that “ Italy was lost.” 

I have many a temptation here to diverge from a line that 
I set down for myself in these memoirs, and from which as 
yet I have not wandered, — I mean, not to dwell upon events 
wherein I was not myself an actor; but I am determined 
still to adhere to my rule, and leaving that glorious event 
behind me, plod wearily along my now sad journey. 

Day after day we journeyed through a country teeming 
with abundance, — vast plains of corn and maize, olives and 
vines, everywhere, on the mountains, the crags, the rocks, 
festooned over cliffs, and spreading their tangled networks 
over cottages; and yet everywhere poverty, misery, and 
debasement, ruined villages, and a half-naked, starving 
populace met the eye at every turn. There was the stamp 
of slavery on all, and still more palpably was there the stamp 
of despotism in the air of their rulers. 

I say this in a sad spirit ; for within a year from the day 
in which I write these lines I have travelled the selfsame 
road, and with precisely the selfsame objects before me, — 
changed in nothing, save what time changes, in ruin and 
decay ! There was the dreary village as of yore ; the un- 
glazed windows closed with some rotten boarding, or occu- 
pied with a face gaunt with famine. The listless, unoccupied 
group still sat or lay on the steps before the church ; a knot 
of nearly naked creatures sat card-playing beside a fountain, 
their unsheathed knives alongside of them ; and lastly, on 
the wall of the one habitation which had the semblance of 
decency about it, there stared out the “ double-headed eagle,” 
the symbol of their shame and their slavery ! It never can 
be the policy of a government to retard the progress and 
depress the energies of a people beneath its rule. Why, then, 
do we find a whole nation, gifted and capable as this, so 
backward in civilization ? Is the fault with the rulers ; or 
are there, indeed, people whose very development is the 
obstacle to their improvement, whose impulses of right and 
wrong will submit to no discipline, and who are incapable 
of appreciating true liberty ? This would be a gloomy theory ; 
and the very thought of it suggests darker fears for a land to 
which my sympathies attach me more closely ! 


A ROYALIST “DE LA VIEILLE ROCHE.” 377 

If any spot can impress the notion of impregnability it is 
Kuffstein. Situated on an eminence of rock over the Inn, 
three sides of the base are washed by that rapid river ; a 
little village occupies the fourth, and from this the supplies 
are hoisted up to the garrison above by cranes and pulleys, 
the only approach being by a path wide enough for a single 
man, and far too steep and difficult of access to admit of his 
carrying any burthen however light. All that science and 
skill could do is added to the natural strength of the position, 
and from every surface of the vast rock itself the projecting 
mouths of guns and mortars show resources of defence it 
would seem madness to attack. 

Three thousand men, under the command of General 
Urleben, held this fortress at the time I speak of, and by 
their habits of discipline and vigilance showed that no over- 
security would make them neglect the charge of so impor- 
tant a trust. I was the first French prisoner that had ever 
been confined within the walls, and to the accident of my 
uniform was I indebted for this distinction. I have men- 
tioned that in Genoa they gave me a staff officer’s dress and 
appointments ; and from this casual circumstance it was sup- 
posed that I should know a great deal of Massena’s move- 
ments and intentions, and that by judicious management I 
might be induced to reveal it. 

General Urleben, who had been brought up in France, 
was admirably calculated to have promoted such an object 
were it practicable. He possessed the most winning address 
as well as great personal advantages, and although now past 
the middle of life was reputed one of the handsomest men 
in Austria. He at once invited me to his table ; and having 
provided me with a delightful little chamber, whence the 
view extended for miles along the Inn, he sent me stores of 
books, journals, and newspapers, — French, English, and 
German, — showing by the very candor of their tidings a 
most flattering degree of confidence and trust. 

If imprisonment could ever be endurable with resigna- 
tion, mine ought to have been so. My mornings were passed 
in weeding or gardening a little plot of ground outside my 
window, giving me ample occupation in that way, and ren- 
dering carnations and roses dearer to me through all my 


878 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


after-life than without such associations they would ever 
have been. Then I used to sketch for hours, from the walls, 
bird’s-eye views, prisoner’s glimpses, of the glorious Tyrol 
scenery below us. Early in the afternoon came dinner ; and 
then, with the general’s pleasant converse, a cigar, and a 
chess-board, the time wore smoothly on till nightfall. 

An occasional thunder-storm, grander and more sublime 
than anything I have ever seen elsewhere, would now and 
then vary a life of calm but not unpleasant monotony ; and 
occasionally, too, some passing escort, on the way to or from 
Vienna, would give tidings of the war. But, except in these, 
each day was precisely like the other ; so that when the 
almanac told me it was autumn, I could scarcely believe a 
single month had glided over. I will not attempt to conceal 
the fact that the inglorious idleness of my life, this term of 
inactivity at an age when hope and vigor and energy were 
highest within me, was a grievous privation ; but, except in 
these regrets, I could almost call this time a happy one. 
The unfortunate position in which I started in life gave me 
little opportunity, or even inclination, for learning. Except 
the little Pere Michel had taught me, I knew nothing. I 
need not say that this was but a sorry stock of education even 
at that period, when, I must say, the sabre was more in vogue 
than the grammar. 

I now set steadily about repairing this deficiency. General 
Urleben lent me all his aid, directing my studies, supplying 
me with books, and at times affording me the still greater 
assistance of his counsel and advice. To history generally, 
but particularly that of France, he made me pay the deepest 
attention, and seemed never to weary while impressing upon 
me the grandeur of our former monarchies and the happiness 
of France when ruled by her legitimate sovereigns. 

I had told him all that I knew myself of my birth and 
family, and frequently would he allude to the subject of my 
reading by saying, “ the son of an old Garde du Corps 
needs no commentary when perusing such details as these. 
Your own instincts tell you how nobly these servants of a 
monarchy bore themselves, what chivalry lived at that time 
in men’s hearts, and how generous and self-denying was 
their loyalty.” 


A ROYALIST “ DE LA YIEILLE ROCHE. 


3T9 


Such and such like were the expressions which dropped 
from him from time to time ; nor was their impression the 
less deep when supported by the testimony of the memoirs 
with which he supplied me. Even in deeds of military glory 
the Monarchy could compete with the Republic ; and Urleben 
took care to insist upon a fact I was never unwilling to con- 
cede, — that the well-born were ever foremost in danger, no 
matter whether the banner was a white one or a tricolor. 

“ Le bon sang ne peut pas mentir” was an adage I never 
disputed, although certainly I never expected to hear it 
employed to the disparagement of those to whom it did not 
apply. 

As the winter set in I saw less of the general. He was 
usually much occupied in the mornings ; and at evenings he 
was accustomed to go down to the village, where of late 
some French emigre families had settled, — unhappy exiles, 
who had both peril and poverty to contend against ! Many 
such were scattered through the Tyrol at that period, both 
for the security and the cheapness it afforded. Of these 
Urleben rarely spoke, — some chance allusion, when borrow- 
ing a book or taking away a newspaper, being the extent to 
which he ever referred to them. 

One morning, as I sat sketching on the walls, he came up 
to me and said, “ Strange enough, Tiernay, last night I was 
looking at a view of this very scene, only taken from another 
point of sight ; both were correct, accurate in every detail, 
and yet most dissimilar, — what a singular illustration of 
many of our prejudices and opinions ! The sketch I speak 
of was made by a young countrywoman of yours, — a highly- 
gifted lady, who little thought that the accomplishments of 
her education were one day to be the resources of her liveli- 
hood. Even so,” said he, sighing, “ a marquise of the best 
blood of France is reduced to sell her drawings ! ” 

As I expressed a wish to see the sketches in question, he 
volunteered to make the request if I would send some of 
mine in return ; and thus accidentally grew up a sort of inter- 
course between myself and the strangers, which gradually 
extended to books and music, and lastly to civil messages 
and inquiries, of which the general was ever the bearer. 

What a boon was all this to me ! What a sun-ray through 


880 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


the bars of a prisoner’s cell was this gleam of kindness and 
sympathy ! The very similarity of our pursuits, too, had 
something inexpressibly pleasing in it ; and I bestowed ten 
times as much pains upon each sketch, now that I knew to 
whose eyes it would be submitted. 

“ Do you know, Tiernay,” said the general tome, one day, 
“ I am about to incur a very heavy penalty in your behalf : 
I am going to contravene the strict orders of the War Office, 
and take you along with me this evening down to the 
village.” 

I started with surprise and delight together, and could not 
utter a word. 

“ I know perfectly well,” continued he, “ that you will not 
abuse my confidence. I ask, then, for nothing beyond your 
word that you will not make any attempt at escape ; for 
this visit may lead to others, and I desire, so far as possible, 
that you should feel as little constraint as a prisoner well 
may.” 

I readily gave the pledge required, and he went on, — 

“I have no cautions to give you, nor any counsels. 
Madame d’Aigreville is a Royalist.” 

“She is madame, then!” said I, in a voice of some 
disappointment. 

“Yes, she is a widow; but her niece is unmarried,” said 
he, smiling at my eagerness. I affected to hear the tidings 
with unconcern, but a burning flush covered my cheek, and 
I felt as uncomfortable as possible. 

I dined that day as usual with the general, adjourning 
after dinner to the little drawing-room, where we played our 
chess. Never did he appear to me so tedious in his stories, 
so intolerably tiresome in his digressions, as that evening. 
He halted at every move ; he had some narrative to recount, 
or some observation to make, that delayed our game to an 
enormous time ; and at last, on looking out of the window, 
he fancied there was a thunder-storm brewing, and that we 
should do well to put off our visit to a more favorable 
opportunity. 

“It is little short of half a league,” said he, “ to the vil- 
lage, and in bad weather is worse than double the distance.” 

I did not dare to controvert his opinion, but fortunately 


A ROYALIST “DE LA VIEILLE ROCHE.' 


881 


a gleam of sunshine shot the same moment through the 
window, and proclaimed a fair evening. 

Heaven knows I had suffered little of a prisoner’s durance, 
— my life had been one of comparative freedom and ease ; 
and yet I cannot tell the swelling emotion of my heart with 
which I emerged from the deep archway of the fortress, and 
heard the bang of the heavy gate as it closed behind me ! 
Steep as was the path, I felt as if I could have bounded down 
it without a fear ! The sudden sense of liberty was madden- 
ing in its excitement ; and I half suspect that had I been on 
horseback in that moment of wild delight, I should have for- 
gotten all my plighted word and parole, though I sincerely 
trust that the madness would not have endured beyond a 
few minutes. If there be among my readers one who has 
known imprisonment, he will forgive this confession of a 
weakness which to others of less experience will seem 
unworthy, perhaps dishonorable. 

Dorf Kuffstein was a fair specimen of the picturesque 
simplicity of a Tyrol village. There were the usual number 
of houses, with carved galleries and quaint images in wood, 
the shrines and altars, the little Platz for Sunday recreation, 
and the shady alley for rifle practice. 

There were also the trellised walks of vines, and the 
orchards, in the midst of one of which we now approached 
a long, low farmhouse, whose galleries projected over the 
river. This was the abode of Madame d’Aigreville. 

A peasant was cleaning a little mountain pony, from which 
a side-saddle had just been removed as we came up ; and he, 
leaving his work, proceeded to ask us into the house, inform- 
ing us, as he went, that the ladies had just returned from 
a long ramble, and would be with us presently. 

The drawing-room into which we were shown was a perfect 
picture of cottage elegance ; all the furniture was of polished 
walnut- wood, and kept in the very best condition. It opened 
by three spacious windows upon the terrace above the river, 
and afforded a view of mountain and valley for miles on 
every side. An easel was placed in this gallery, and a small 
sketch in oils of Kuffstein was already nigh completed on it. 
There were books, too, in different languages, and, to my 
inexpressible delight, a piano ! 


382 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


The reader will smile, perhaps, at the degree of pleasure 
objects so familiar and every-day called forth ; but let him 
remember how removed were all the passages of my life from 
such civilizing influences, how little of the world had I seen 
beyond camps and barrack-rooms, and how ignorant I was 
of the charm which a female presence can diffuse over even 
the very humblest abode. 

Before I had well ceased to wonder, and to admire these 
objects, the marquise entered. 

A tall and stately old lady, with an air at once haughty 
and gracious, received me with a profound courtesy, while 
she extended her hand to the salute of the general. She was 
dressed in deep mourning, and wore her white hair in two 
braids along her face. The sound of my native language, 
with its native accent, made me forget the almost profound 
reserve of her manner, and I was fast recovering from the 
constraint her coldness imposed when her niece entered the 
room. Mademoiselle, who was at that time about seven- 
teen, but looked older by a year or two, was the very ideal 
of brunette beauty ; she was dark-eyed and black-haired, 
with a mouth the most beautifully formed; her figure was 
light, and her foot a model of shape and symmetry. All 
this I saw in an instant, as she came, half-sliding, half- 
bounding to meet the general, and then toning to me, 
welcomed me with a cordial warmth very different from the 
reception of Madame la Marquise. 

Whether it was the influence of her presence, whether it 
was a partial concession of the old lady’s own, or whether 
my own awkwardness was wearing off by time, I cannot 
say, but gradually the stiffness of the interview began to 
diminish. From the scenery around us we grew to talk of 
the Tyrol generally, then of Switzerland, and lastly of 
France. The marquise came from Auvergne, and was 
justly proud of the lovely scenery of her birthplace. 

Calmly and tranquilly as the conversation had been carried 
on up to this period, the mention of France seemed to break 
down the barrier of reserve within the old lady’s mind, and 
she burst out in a wild flood of reminiscences of the last 
time she had seen her native village. “The Blues,” as the 
Revolutionary soldiers were called, had come down upon the 


A ROYALIST “ DE LA VIEILLE ROCHE/’ 383 

quiet valley, carrying fire and carnage into a once peaceful 
district. The chateau of her family was razed to the ground ; 
her husband was shot upon his own terrace ; the whole village 
was put to the sword ; her own escape was owing to the 
compassion of the gardener’s wife, who dressed her like a 
peasant boy, and employed her in a menial station, — a con- 
dition she was forced to continue so long as the troops 
remained in the neighborhood. “ l r es,” said she, drawing 
off her silk mittens, “ these hands still witness the hardships 
I speak of. These are the marks of my servitude.” 

It was in vain the general tried at first to sympathize with 
her, and then withdraw her from the theme ; in vain her 
niece endeavored to suggest another topic, or convey a hint 
that the subject might be unpleasing to me. It was the 
old lady’s one absorbing idea, and she could not relinquish 
it. Whole volumes of the atrocities perpetrated by the 
Revolutionary soldiery came to her recollection ; each moment, 
as she talked, memory would recall this fact or the other; 
and so she continued rattling on with the fervor of a 
heated imagination and the wild impetuosity of a half- 
crazed intellect. As for myself, I suffered far more from 
witnessing the pain others felt for me than from any offence 
the topic occasioned me directly. These events were all 
“before my time.” I was neither a Blue by birth nor by 
adoption ; a child during the period of revolution, I had 
only taken a man’s part when the country, emerging from 
its term of anarchy and blood, stood at bay against the 
whole of Europe. These consolations were, however, not 
known to the others ; and it was at last, in a moment of 
unendurable agony, that mademoiselle rose and left the room. 

The general’s eyes followed her as she went, and then 
sought mine with an expression full of deep meaning. If I 
read his look aright, it spoke patience and submission ; and 
the lesson was an easier one than he thought. 

“ They talk of heroism,” cried she, frantically, — “it was 
massacre ! And when they speak of chivalry, they mean 
the slaughter of women and children ! ” She looked round, 
seeing that her niece had left the room, suddenly dropped 
her voice to a whisper, and said, “Think of her mother’s 
fate, — dragged from her home, her widowed, desolate home, 


384 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


and thrown into the Temple ; outraged and insulted, con- 
demned on a mock trial, and then carried away to the 
guillotine ! Ay, and even then, on that spot which coming 
death might have sanctified; in that moment when even 
fiendish vengeance can turn away and leave its victim at 
liberty to utter a last prayer in peace, — even then these 
wretches devised an anguish greater than all death could 
compass. You will scarcely believe me,” said she, drawing 
in her breath, and talking with an almost convulsive effort, — 
‘ ‘ you will scarcely believe me in what I am now about to 
tell you ; but it is the truth, the simple but horrible truth. 
When my sister mounted the scaffold there was no priest to 
administer the last rites. It was a time, indeed, when few 
were left; their hallowed heads had fallen in thousands 
before that. She waited for a few minutes, hoping that 
one would appear ; and when the mob learned the meaning 
of her delay, they set up a cry of fiendish laughter ; and with 
a blasphemy that makes one shudder to think of, they pushed 
forward a boy, one of those blood-stained gamins of the 
streets, and made him gabble a mock litany ! Yes, it is 
true, — a horrible mockery of our service, in the ears and 
before the eyes of that dying saint.” 

“When, in what year, in what place was that?” cried 
I, in an agony of eagerness. 

“ I can give you both time and place, sir,” said the mar- 
quise, drawing herself proudly up, for she construed my 
question into a doubt of her veracity. “ It was in the year 
1793, in the month of August; and as for the place, it 
was one well seasoned to blood, — the Place de Greve at 
Paris.” 

A fainting sickness came over me as I heard these words ; 
the dreadful truth flashed across me that the victim was the 
Marquise D’Estelles, and the boy, on whose infamy she 
dwelt so strongly, no other than myself. For the moment, 
it was nothing to me that she had not identified me with 
this atrocity; I felt no consolation in the thought that I 
was unknown and unsuspected. The heavy weight of the 
indignant accusation almost crushed me. Its falsehood I 
knew, and yet could I dare to disprove it? Could I hazard 
the consequences of an avowal, which all my subsequent 


A ROYALIST “ DE LA VIEILLE ROCHE . 1 


385 


pleadings could never obliterate ? Even were my innocence 
established in one point, what a position did it reduce me to 
in every other ! 

These struggles must have manifested themselves strongly 
in my looks, for the marquise, with all her self-occupation, 
remarked how ill I seemed. “I see, sir,” cried she, “that 
all the ravages of war have not steeled your heart against 
true piety ; my tale has moved you strongly.” I muttered 
something in concurrence, and she went on. “ Happily for 
you, you were but a child when such scenes were happen- 
ing ! Not, indeed, that childhood was always unstained in 
those days of blood ; but you were, as I understand, the son 
of a Garde du Corps, one of those loyal men who sealed 
their devotion with their life. Were you in Paris then? ” 

“Yes, Madame,” said I, briefly. 

“ With your mother, perhaps? ” 

“ I was quite alone, Madame ; an orphan on both sides.” 

“ What was your mother’s family name? ” 

Here was a puzzle ; but at a hazard I resolved to claim her 
who should sound best to the ears of La Marquise. “La 
Lasterie, Madame,” said I. 

“La Lasterie de la Vignoble, — a most distinguished 
house, sir. Provencal, and of the purest blood. Auguste 
de la Lasterie married the daughter of the Due de Mirian- 
court, a cousin of my husband’s ; and there was another of 
them who went as ambassador to Madrid.” 

I knew none of them, and I suppose I looked as much. 

“Your mother was, probably, of the elder branch, sir?” 
asked she. 

I had to stammer out a most lamentable confession of my 
ignorance. 

“Not know your own kinsfolk, sir! not your nearest of 
blood!” cried she, in amazement. “General, have you 
heard this strange avowal, or is it possible that my ears have 
deceived me ? ” 

“Please to remember, Madame,” said I, submissively, 
“the circumstances in which I passed my infancy. My 
father fell by the guillotine.” 

“ And his son wears the uniform of those who slew 
him ! ” 


25 


386 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“Of a French soldier, Madame, proud of the service he 
belongs to ; glorying to be one of the first army in Europe.’' 

“An army without a cause is a banditti, sir. Your 
soldiers, without loyalty, are without a banner.” 

“We have a country, Madame.” 

“ I must protest against this discussion going further,” 
said the general, blandly, while in a lower tone he whispered 
something in her ear. 

“Very true, very true,” said she; “I had forgotten all 
that. Monsieur de Tiernay, you will forgive me this warmth. 
An old woman, who has lost nearly everything in the world, 
may have the privilege of bad temper accorded her. We 
are friends now, I hope,” added she, extending her hand, 
and, with a smile of most gracious meaning, beckoning to 
me to sit beside her on the sofa. 

Once away from the terrible theme of the Revolution, she 
conversed with much agreeability ; and her niece having 
reappeared, the conversation became animated and pleasing. 
Need I say with what interest I now regarded mademoiselle, 

— the object of all my boyish devotion ; the same whose pale 
features I had watched for many an hour in the dim half 
light of the little chapel; her whose image was never ab- 
sent from my thoughts, waking or sleeping, and now 
again appearing before me in all the grace of coming 
womanhood ! 

Perhaps to obliterate any impression of her aunt’s severity, 

— perhaps it was mere manner, — but I thought there was a 
degree of anxiety to please in her bearing towards me. She 
spoke, too, as though our acquaintance was to be continued 
by frequent meetings, and dropped hints of plans that 
implied constant intercourse. Even excursions into the 
neighborhood she spoke of ; when, suddenly stopping, she 
said, “ But these are for the season of spring, and before 
that time Monsieur de Tiernay will be far away.” 

“ Who can tell that? ” said I. “I would seem to be for- 
gotten by my comrades.” 

“ Then you must take care to do that which may refresh 
their memory,” said she, pointedly; and before I could 
question her more closely as to her meaning, the general 
had risen to take his leave. 


A ROYALIST “ DE LA VIEILLE ROCHE.’ 


38T 


“ Madame la Marquise was somewhat more tart than 
usual,” said he to me, as we ascended the cliff; u but you 
have passed the ordeal now, and the chances are she will 
never offend you in the same way again. Great allowances 
must be made for those who have suffered as she has. 
Family, fortune, station, even country, all lost to her ; and 
even hope now dashed by many a disappointment.” 

Though puzzled by the last few words, I made no remark 
on them, and he resumed, — 

“ She has invited you to come and see her as often as you 
are at liberty ; and, for my part, you shall not be restricted 
in that way. Go and come as you please, only do not 
infringe the hours of the fortress ; and if you can concede 
a little now and then to the prejudices of the old lady, 
your intercourse will be all the more agreeable to both 
parties.” 

“I believe, General, that I have little of the Jacobin to 
recant,” said I, laughing. 

“ I should go further, my dear friend, and say, none,” 
added he. “ Your uniform is the only tint of 4 blue ’ about 
you.” And thus chatting, we reached the fortress, and said 
good-night. 

I have been particular, perhaps tiresomely so, in retailing 
these broken phrases and snatches of conversation ; but they 
were the first matches applied to a train that was long and 
artfully laid. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


“a sorrowful parting.” 

The general was as good as his word, and I now enjoyed the 
most unrestricted liberty ; in fact, the officers of the garrison 
said truly that they were far more like prisoners than I was. 
As regularly as evening came, I descended the path to the 
village, and as the bell tolled out the vespers I was crossing 
the little grass-plot to the cottage. So regularly was I 
looked for, that the pursuits of each evening were resumed as 
though only accidentally interrupted. The unfinished game 
of chess, the half -read volume, the newly-begun drawing, 
were taken up where we had left them, and life seemed to 
have centred itself in those delightful hours between sunset 
and midnight. 

I suppose there are few young men who have not, at some 
time or other of their lives, enjoyed similar privileges, and 
known the fascination of intimacy in some household where 
the affections became engaged as the intellect expanded, 
and, while winning another’s heart, have elevated their own. 
But to know the full charm of such intercourse, one must 
have been as I was a prisoner, an orphan, almost friendless 
in the world, a very “ waif” upon the shore of destiny. I 
cannot express the intense pleasure these evenings afforded 
me. The cottage was my home, and more than my home ; 
it was a shrine at which my heart worshipped, for I was in 
love ! Easy as the confession is to make now, tortures 
would not have wrung it from me then ! 

In good truth, it was long before I knew it; nor can I 
guess how much longer the ignorance might have lasted, 
when General Urleben suddenly dispelled the clouds by 
informing me that he had just received from the minister- 
of-war at Vienna a demand for the name, rank, and regi- 


"A SORROWFUL PARTING/’ 389 

ment of his prisoner, previous to the negotiation for his 
exchange. 

“You will fill up these blanks, Tiernay,” said he, “and 
within a month, or less, you will be once more free, and say 
adieu to Kuff stein.” 

Had the paper contained my dismissal from the service, 
I shame to own it would have been more welcome ! The last 
few months had changed all the character of my life, sug- 
gested new hopes and new ambitions. The career I used to 
glory in had grown distasteful ; the comrades I once longed 
to rejoin were now become almost repulsive to my imagi- 
nation. The marquise had spoken much of emigrating to 
some part of the new world beyond seas, and thither my 
fancy alike pointed. Perhaps my dreams of a future were 
not the less rose-colored that they received no shadow from 
anything like a “ fact.” The old lady’s geographical knowl- 
edge was neither accurate nor extensive, and she contrived 
to invest this land of promise with old associations of what 
she once heard of Pondicherry, with certain features belong- 
ing to the United States. A glorious country it would 
indeed have been, which within a month’s voyage realized 
all the delights of the tropics, with the healthful vigor of 
the temporate zone, and where, without an effort beyond the 
mere will, men amassed enormous fortunes in a year or two. 
In a calmer mood I might, indeed must, have been struck 
with the wild inconsistency of the old lady’s imaginings, 
and looked with somewhat of scepticism on the map for that 
spot of earth so richly endowed ; but now I believed every- 
thing, provided it only ministered to my new hopes. Laura 
evidently, too, believed in the “Canaan” of which at last 
we used to discourse as freely as though we had been there. 
Little discussions would, however, now and then vary the 
uniformity of this creed, and I remember once feeling almost 
hurt at Laura’s not agreeing with me about zebras, which 
I assured her were just as trainable as horses, but which 
the marquise flatly refused ever to use in any of her carriages. 
These were mere passing clouds ; the regular atmosphere of 
our wishes was bright and transparent. 

In the midst of these delicious daydreams, there came one 
day a number of letters to the marquise by the hands of a 


390 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


courier on his way to Naples. What their contents were 
I never knew, but the tidings seemed most joyful ; for the 
old lady invited the general and myself to dinner, when the 
table was decked out with white lilies on all sides, she 
herself, and Laura also, wearing them in bouquets on their 
dresses. 

The occasion had, I could see, something of a celebration 
about it. Mysterious hints to circumstances I knew nothing 
of were constantly interchanged, the whole ending with a 
solemn toast to the memory of the “ Saint and Martyr ; ” but 
who he was, or when he lived, I knew not one single fact 
about. 

That evening — I cannot readily forget it — was the first 
I had ever an opportunity of being alone with Laura. 
Hitherto the marquise had always been beside us ; now she 
had all this correspondence to read over with the general, and 
they both retired into a little boudoir for the purpose, while 
Laura and myself wandered out upon the terrace, as awk- 
ward and constrained as though our situation had been the 
most provoking thing possible. It was on that same morn- 
ing I had received the general’s message regarding my 
situation, and I was burning with anxiety to tell it, and yet 
knew not exactly how. Laura, too, seemed full of her own 
thoughts, and leaned pensively over the balustrade and gazed 
on the stream. 

“What are you thinking of so seriously?” asked I, after 
a long pause. 

“Of long, long ago,” said she, sighing, “when I was a 
little child. I remember a little chapel like that yonder, only 
that it was not on a rock over a river, but stood in a small 
garden ; and though in a great city, it was as lonely and 
solitary as might be, — the Chapelle de St. Blois.” 

“ St. Blois, Laura ! ” cried I ; “oh, tell me about that ! ” 

“ Why, you surely never heard of it before,” said she, 
smiling. “It was in a remote quarter of Paris, nigh the 
outer Boulevard, and known to but a very few. It had once 
belonged to our family ; for in olden times there were 
cMteaux and country houses within that space, which then 
was part of Paris, and one of our ancestors was buried 
there. How well I remember it all ! The dim little aisle, 


A SORROWFUL PARTING. 1 


391 


supported on wooden pillars ; the simple altar, with the 
oaken crucifix, and the calm, gentle features of the poor 
cure.” 

“ Can you remember all this so well?” asked I, eagerly, 
for the theme was stirring my very heart of hearts. 

“All, everything, — the straggling, weed-grown garden, 
through which we passed to our daily devotions, the congrega- 
tion standing respectfully to let us walk by ; for my mother 
was still the great Marquise D’Estelles, although my father 
had been executed, and our estates confiscated. They who had 
known us in our prosperity were as respectful and devoted 
as ever ; and poor old Richard, the lame sacristan, that used 
to take my mother’s bouquet from her and lay it on the 
altar, — how everything stands out clear and distinct before 
my memory ! Nay, Maurice, but I can tell you more ; for, 
strangely enough, certain things merely trifles in themselves 
make impressions that even great events fail to do. There 
was a little boy, a child somewhat older than myself, that 
used to serve the mass with the Fere , and he always came 
to place a footstool or a cushion for my mother. Poor little 
fellow, bashful and diffident he was, changing color at every 
minute, and trembling in every limb ; and when he had done 
his duty, and made his little reverence, with his hands 
crossed on his bosom, he used to fall back into some gloomy 
corner of the church, and stand watching us with an expres- 
sion of intense wonder and pleasure. Yes, I think I see his 
dark eyes, glistening through the gloom, ever fixed on me ! 
I am sure, Maurice, that little fellow fancied he was in love 
with me.” 

“And why not, Laura? Was the thing so very impos- 
sible, was it even so unlikely?” 

“ Not that,” said she, archly ; “ but think of a mere child, 
— we were both mere children, — and fancy him, the poor 
little boy, of some humble house, perhaps (of course he must 
have been that) , raising his eyes to the daughter of the great 
4 Marquise ’ ! What energy of character there must have 
been to have suggested the feeling! how daring he was, 
with all his bashfulness ! ” 

“ You never saw him afterwards? ” 

“Never!” 


392 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ Never thought of him, perhaps? ” 

“I’ll not say that,” said she, smiling. “I have often 
wondered to myself if that hardihood I speak of had borne 
good or evil fruit. Had he been daring or enterprising in 
the right, or had he, as the sad times favored, been only 
bold and impetuous for the wrong?” 

“And how have you pictured him to your imagination?” 
said I, as if merely following out a fanciful vein of thought. 

“ My fancy would like to have conceived him a chivalrous 
adherent to our ancient royalty, striving nobly in exile to 
aid the fortunes of some honored house, or daring, as many 
brave men have dared, the heroic part of La Vendee. My 
reason, however, tells me that he was far more likely to have 
taken the other part.” 

“ To which you will concede no favor, Laura, — not even 
the love of glory ? ” 

“Glory, like honor, should have its fountain in a 
monarchy,” cried she, proudly. “ The rude voices of a 
multitude can confer no meed of praise; their judgments 
are the impulses of the moment. But why do we speak of 
these things, Maurice? Nor have I, who can but breathe my 
hopes for a cause, the just pretension to contend with you 
who shed your blood for its opposite.” 

As she spoke, she hurried from the balcony and quitted 
the room. It was the first time, as I have said, that we had 
ever been alone together, and it was also the first time she 
had ever expressed herself strongly on the subject of party. 
What a moment to have declared her opinions, and when 
her reminiscences, too, had recalled our infancy ! How often 
was I tempted to interrupt that confession by declaring 
myself, and how strongly was I repelled by the thought that 
the avowal might sever us forever! While I was thus 
deliberating, the marquise, with the general, entered the 
room, and Laura followed in a few moments. 

The supper that night was a pleasant one to all save me. 
The rest were gay and high-spirited. Allusions, understood 
by them but not by me, were caught up readily, and as 
quickly responded to. Toasts were uttered, and wishes 
breathed in concert; but all was like a dream to me. In- 
deed, my heart grew heavier at every moment. My coming 


A SORROWFUL PARTING.’ 


393 


departure, of which I had not yet spoken, lay drearily on 
my mind, while the bold decision with which Laura declared 
her faith showed that our destinies were separated by an 
impassable barrier. 

It may be supposed that my depression was not relieved 
by discovering that the general had already announced my 
approaching departure ; and the news, far from being re- 
ceived with anything like regret, was made the theme of 
pleasant allusion and even congratulation. The marquise 
repeatedly assured me of the delight the tidings gave her, 
and Laura smiled happily towards me, as if echoing the 
sentiment. 

Was this the feeling I had counted on? Were these the 
evidences of an affection for which I had given my whole 
heart? Oh, how bitterly I reviled the frivolous ingratitude 
of woman ! how heavily I condemned their heartless, unfeel- 
ing natures ! In a few days, a few hours, perhaps, I shall 
be as totally forgotten here as though I had never been ; and 
yet these are the people who parade their devotion to a fallen 
monarchy, and their affection for an exiled house ! I tried 
to arm myself with every prejudice against royalism. I 
thought of Santron and his selfish, sarcastic spirit. I thought 
of all the stories I used to hear of cowardly ingratitude and 
noble infamy, and tried to persuade myself that the blan- 
dishments of the well-born were but the gloss that covered 
cruel and unfeeling natures. 

For very pride sake, I tried to assume a manner cool and 
unconcerned as their own. I affected to talk of my depar- 
ture as a pleasant event, and even hinted at the career that 
Fortune might hereafter open to me. In this they seemed to 
take a deeper interest than I anticipated, and I could per- 
ceive that more than once the general exchanged looks with 
the ladies most significantly. I fear I grew very impatient 
at last. I grieve to think that I fancied a hundred annoy- 
ances that were never intended for me ; and when we arose 
to take leave, I made my adieux with a cold and stately re- 
serve, intended to be strongly impressive and to cut them to 
the quick. 

I heard very little of what the general said as we ascended 
the cliff. I was out of temper with him and myself and all 


894 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


the world, and it was only when he recalled my attention to 
the fact, for the third or fourth time, that I learned how very 
kindly he meant by me in the matter of my liberation ; for 
while he had forwarded all my papers to Vienna, he was 
quite willing to set me at liberty on the following day, in the 
perfect assurance that my exchange would be confirmed. 

“ Y r ou will thus have a full fortnight at your own disposal, 
Tiernay,” said he, “ since the official answer cannot arrive 
from Vienna before that time, and you need not report your- 
self in Paris for eight or ten days after.” 

Here was a boon now thrown away ! For my part, I 
would a thousand times rather have lingered on at Kuffstein 
than have been free to travel Europe from one end to the 
other. My outraged pride, however, put this out of the 
question. La Marquise and her niece had both assumed a 
manner of sincere gratification, and I was resolved not to be 
behindhand in my show of joy. I ought to have known it, 
said I again and again, — I ought to have known it. These 
antiquated notions of birth and blood can never co-exist 
with any generous sentiment ; these remnants of a worn-out 
monarchy can never forgive the vigorous energy that has 
dethroned their decrepitude ! I did not dare to speculate on 
what a girl Laura might have been under other auspices ; 
how nobly her ambition would have soared, what high-souled 
patriotism she could have felt, how gloriously she would 
have adorned the society of a regenerated nation. I thought 
of her as she was, and could have hated myself for the 
devotion with which my heart regarded her! 

I never closed my eyes the entire night. I lay down and 
walked about alternately, my mind in a perfect fever of con- 
flict. Pride, a false pride, but not the less strong for that, 
alone sustained me. The general had announced to me that 
I was free. Be it so ; I will no longer be a burden on his 
hospitality. La Marquise hears the tidings with pleasure. 
Agreed, then, — we part without regret. Very valorous 
resolutions they were, but come to, I must own, with a very 
sinking heart and a very craven spirit. 

Instead of my full uniform, that morning I put on half 
dress, showing that I was ready for the road, — a sign, I 
had hoped, would have spoken unutterable things to La 
Marquise and Laura. 


A SORROWFUL PARTING/ 


395 


Immediately after breakfast I set out for the cottage. 
All the way, as I went, I was drilling myself for the inter- 
view by assuming a tone of the coolest and easiest indiffer- 
ence. They shall have no triumph over me in this respect, 
muttered I. Let us see if I cannot be as unconcerned as 
they are ! To such a pitch had I carried my zeal for flip- 
pancy, that I resolved to ask them whether they had any 
commission I could execute for them in Paris or elsewhere. 
The idea struck me as excellent, so indicative of perfect self- 
possession and command. I am sure I must have rehearsed 
our interview at least a dozen times, supplying all the stately 
grandeur of the old lady and all the quiet placitude of Laura. 

By the time I reached the village I was quite strong in my 
part, and as I crossed the Platz I was eager to begin it. 
This energetic spirit, however, began to waver a little as I 
entered the lawn before the cottage, and a most uncomfort- 
able throbbing at my side made me stand for a moment in 
the porch before I entered. I used always to make my 
appearance unannounced, but now I felt that it would be 
more dignified and distant were I to summon a servant ; and 
yet I could find none. The household was on a very simple 
scale, and in all likelihood the labors of the field or the gar- 
den were now employing them. I hesitated what to do; 
and after looking in vain around the u cour ” and the stable- 
yard, I turned into the garden to seek for some one. 

I had not proceeded many paces along a little alley, 
flanked by two close hedges of yew, when I heard voices, 
and at the same instant my own name uttered. 

“ You told him to use caution, Laura ; that we know little 
of this Tiernay beyond his own narrative — ” 

“I told him the very reverse, aunt. I said that he was 
the son of a loyal Garde du Corps, left an orphan in infancy, 
and thrown by force of events into the service of the Repub- 
lic ; but that every sentiment he expressed, every ambition 
he cherished, and every feeling he displayed, was that of a 
gentleman ; nay, further — ” 

But I did not wait for more, for, striking my sabre heavily 
on the ground to announce my coming, I walked hurriedly 
forward towards a small arbor where the ladies were seated 
at breakfast. 


396 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


I need not stop to say how completely all my resolves were 
routed by the few words I had overheard from Laura, nor 
how thoroughly I recanted all my expressions concerning 
her. So full was I of joy and gratitude, that I hastened to 
salute her before ever noticing the marquise or being con- 
scious of her presence. 

The old lady, usually the most exacting of all beings, took 
my omission in good part, and most politely made room for 
me between herself and Laura at the breakfast- table. 

“You have come most opportunely, Monsieur de Tier- 
nay,” said she ; “ for not only were we just speaking of you, 
but discussing whether or not we might ask of you a favor.” 

“Does the question admit of a discussion, Madame?” 
said I, bowing. 

“Perhaps not, — in ordinary circumstances, perhaps not; 
but — ” she hesitated, seemed confused, and looked at 
Laura, who went on, — 

“ My aunt would say, sir, that we may be possibly asking 
too much, that we may presume too far.” 

“Not on my will to serve you,” I broke in, for her looks 
said much more than her words. 

“ The matter is this, sir,” said the aunt : “we have a very 
valued relative — ” 

“ Friend,” interposed Laura, — “ friend, aunt.” 

“ We will say friend, then,” resumed she. “A friend in 
whose welfare we are deeply interested, and whose regard 
for us is not less powerful, has been for some years back 
separated from us by the force of those unhappy circum- 
stances which have made so many of us exiles. No means 
have existed of communicating with each other, nor of in- 
terchanging those hopes or fears for our country’s welfare 
which are so near to every French heart, — he in Germany, 
we in the wild Tyrol, one-half the world apart, and dare not 
trust to a correspondence the utterance of those sympathies 
which have brought so many to the scaffold ! ” 

“We would ask of you to see him, Monsieur de Tiernay, 
to know him,” burst out Laura; “to tell him all that you 
can of France, — above all, of the sentiments of the army; 
he is a soldier himself, and will hear you with pleasure.” 

“ You may speak freely and frankly,” continued the 


“A SORROWFUL PARTING.' 


397 


marquise ; 4 4 the count is man of the world enough to hear 
the truth even when it gives pain. Your own career will 
interest him deeply ; heroism has always had a charm for all 
his house. This letter will introduce you ; and as the general 
informs us you have some days at your own disposal, pray 
give them to our service in this cause.” 

u Willingly, Madame,” replied I ; 44 only let me understand 
a little better — ” 

“There is no need to know more,” interrupted Laura; 
44 the Count de Marsanne will himself suggest everything of 
which you will talk. He will speak of us, perhaps, — of the 
Tyrol, of Kuffstein; then he will lead the conversation to 
France ; in fact, once acquainted, you will follow the dictates 
of your own fancy.” 

44 Just so, Monsieur de Tiernay ; it will be a visit with as 
little of ceremony as possible — ” 

44 Aunt!” interrupted Laura, as if recalling the marquise 
to caution ; and the old lady at once acknowledged the hint 
by a significant look. 

I see it all, thought I. De Marsanne is Laura’s accepted 
lover, and I am the person to be employed as go-between. 
This was intolerable, and when the thought first struck me, 
I was out of myself with passion. 

44 Are we. asking too great a favor, Monsieur de Tiernay? ” 
said the marquise, whose eyes were fixed upon me during 
this conflict. 

44 Of course not, Madame,” said I, in an accent of almost 
sarcastic tone. 44 If I am not wrong in my impressions, the 
cause might claim a deeper devotion ; but this is a theme I 
would not wish to enter upon.” 

44 We are aware of that,” said Laura, quickly; 4 4 we are 
quite prepared for your reserve, which is perfectly proper 
and becoming.” 

44 Your position being one of unusual delicacy,” chimed in 
the marquise. 

I bowed haughtily and coldly, while the marquise uttered 
a thousand expressions of gratitude and regard to me. 

44 We had hoped to have seen you here a few days longer, 
Monsieur,” said she, 44 but perhaps, under the circumstances, 
it is better as it is.” 


398 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“Under the circumstances, Madame,” repeated I, “ I am 
bound to agree with you ; ” and I turned to say farewell. 

“ Rather, au revoir , Monsieur de Tiernay,” said the mar- 
quise; “ friendship, such as ours, should at least be hopeful; 
say then au revoir .” • 

“ Perhaps Monsieur de Tiernay’s hopes run not in the 
same channel as our own, aunt,” said Laura; “and perhaps 
the days of happiness that we look forward to would bring 
far different feelings to his heart.” 

This was too pointed, this was insupportably offensive; 
and I was only able to mutter, “You are right, Mademoi- 
selle ; ” and then, addressing myself- to the marquise, I made 
some blundering apologies about haste and so forth, 
while I promised to fulfil her commission faithfully and 
promptly. 

“ Shall we not hear from you?” said the old lady, as she 
gave me her hand. I was about to say, “ Under the circum- 
stances, better not ; ” but I hesitated, and Laura, seeing my 
confusion, said, — 

“ It might be unfair, aunt, to expect it ; remember how he 
is placed.” 

“ Mademoiselle is a miracle of forethought and candor 
too,” said I. “Adieu! adieu forever!” The last word I 
uttered in a low whisper. 

“ Adieu, Maurice,” she said, equally low, and then turned 
away towards the window. 

From that moment until the instant when, out of breath 
and exhausted, I halted for a few seconds on the crag below 
the fortress, I knew nothing ; my brain was in a whirl 
of mad, conflicting thought. Every passion was working 
within me ; and rage, jealousy, love, and revenge were alter- 
nately swaying and controlling me. Then, however, as I 
looked down for the last time on the village and the cottage 
beside the river, my heart softened, and I burst into a torrent 
of tears. “ There,” said I, as I arose to resume my way, 
“ there ! one illusion is dissipated ; let me take care that life 
never shall renew the affliction! Henceforth I will be a 
soldier, and only a soldier.” 


CHAPTER XL. 


“ THE CHATEAU OF ETTENHEIM.” 

I now come to an incident in my life which, however briefly I 
may speak, has left the deepest impression on my memory. 
I have told the reader how I left Kuffstein fully satisfied that 
the Count de Marsanne was Laura’s lover ; and that in keep- 
ing my promise to see and speak with him, I was about to 
furnish an instance of self-denial and fidelity that nothing in 
ancient or modern days could compete with. 

The letter was addressed, “ The Count Louis de Marsanne, 
Chateau d’Ettenheim, a Bade,” and thither I accordingly 
repaired, travelling over the Arlberg to Bregenz, and across 
the Lake of Constance to Freyburg, — my passport contain- 
ing a very few words in cypher, which always sufficed to 
afford me free transit and every attention from the authori- 
ties. I had left the southern Tyrol in the outburst of a 
glorious spring, but as I journeyed northward I found the 
rivers frozen, the roads encumbered with snow, and the fields 
untilled and dreary-looking. Like all countries which derive 
their charms from the elements of rural beauty, foliage, and 
verdure, Germany offers a sad-colored picture to the traveller 
in winter or wintry weather. 

It was thus, then, that the Grand Duchy, so celebrated for 
its picturesque beauty, struck me as a scene of dreary and 
desolate wildness, an impression which continued to increase 
with every mile I travelled from the high road. A long 
unbroken flat, intersected here and there by stunted willows, 
traversed by a narrow earth road, lay between the Rhine 
and the Taunus Mountains, in the midst of which stood the 
village of Ettenheim. Outside the village, about half a 
mile off, and on the border of a vast pine-forest, stood the 
Chateau. 


400 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


It was originally a hunting-seat of the Dukes of Baden, 
but from neglect and disuse gradually fell into ruin, from 
which it was reclaimed, imperfectly enough, a year before, 
and now exhibited some remnants of its former taste along 
with the evidences of a far less decorative spirit, — the lower 
rooms being arranged as a stable, while the stair and entrance 
to the first story opened from a roomy coach-house. Here 
some four or five conveyances of rude construction were 
gathered together, splashed and unwashed, as if from recent 
use ; and at a small stove in a corner was seated a peasant 
in a blue frock, smoking as he affected to clean a bridle which 
he held before him. 

Without rising from his seat he saluted me, with true 
German phlegm, and gave me the “ Guten Tag,” with all 
the grave unconcern of a Badener. I asked if the Count 
de Marsanne lived there. He said yes, but the “ graf ” 
was out hunting. When would he be back? By nightfall. 
Could I remain there till his return was my next ques- 
tion ; and he stared at me as I put it, with some surprise. 
“ Warum nicht?” (“Why not?”) was at last his senten- 
tious answer, as he made way for me beside the stove. I saw 
at once that my appearance had evidently not entitled me to 
any peculiar degree of deference or respect, and that the man 
regarded me as his equal. It was true I had come some 
miles on foot, and with a knapsack on my shoulder, so that 
the peasant was fully warranted in his reception of me. I 
accordingly seated myself at his side, and lighting my pipe 
from his, proceeded to derive all the profit I could from 
drawing him into conversation. I might have spared myself 
the trouble. Whether the source lay in stupidity or sharp- 
ness, he evaded me on every point. Not a single particle of 
information could I obtain about the count, his habits, or his 
history. He would not even tell me how long he had resided 
there, nor whence he had come. He liked hunting, and so 
did the other “ herren.” There was the whole I could scan ; 
and to the simple fact that there were others with him, did I 
find myself limited. 

Curious to see something of the count’s “ interior,” I 
hinted to my companion that I had come on purpose to visit 
his master, and suggested the propriety of my awaiting his 


THE CHATEAU OF ETTENHEIM . 1 


401 


arrival in a more suitable place ; but he turned a deaf ear to 
the hint, and dryly remarked that the “ graf would not be 
long a-coming now.” This prediction was, however, not to 
be verified ; the dreary hours of the dull day stole heavily 
on, and although I tried to beguile the time by lounging 
about the place, the cold ungenial weather drove me back to 
the stove, or to the dark precincts of the stable, tenanted by 
three coarse ponies of the mountain breed. 

One of these was the graf’s favorite, the peasant told 
me ; and indeed here he showed some disposition to become 
communicative, narrating various gifts and qualities of the 
unseemly looking animal, which in his eyes was a paragon 
of horseflesh. “ He could travel from here to Kehl and 
back in a day, and has often done it,” was one meed of 
praise that lie bestowed, — a fact which impressed me more 
as regarded the rider than the beast, and set my curiosity at 
work to think why any man should undertake a journey of 
nigh seventy miles between two such places and with such 
speed. The problem served to occupy me till dark, and I 
know not how long after. A stormy night of rain and wind 
set in ; and the peasant, having bedded and foraged his cattle, 
lighted a rickety old lantern and began to prepare for bed, 
for such I at last saw was the meaning of a long crib, like a 
coffin, half filled with straw and sheepskins. A coarse loaf 
of black bread, some black forest cheese, and a flask of 
Kleinthaler, a most candid imitation of vinegar, made their 
appearance from a cupboard, and I did not disdain to partake 
of these delicacies. 

My host showed no disposition to become more communi- 
cative over his wine, and indeed the liquor might have 
excused any degree of reserve ; and no sooner was our meal 
over than, drawing a great woollen cap half over his face, he 
rolled himself up in his sheepskins, and betook himself to 
sleep, — if not with a good conscience, at least with a sturdy 
volition that served just as well. 

Occasionally snatching a short slumber, or walking to and 
fro in the roomy chamber, I passed several hours, when the 
splashing sound of horses’ feet, advancing up the miry road, 
attracted me. Several times before that I had been deceived 
by noises which turned out to be the effects of storm; but 


402 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


now, as I listened, I thought I could hear voices. I opened 
the door, but all was dark outside ; it was the inky hour 
before daybreak, when all is wrapped in deepest gloom. The 
rain, too, was sweeping along the ground in torrents. The 
sounds came nearer every instant, and at last a deep voice 
shouted out, “ Jacob ! ” Before I could awaken the sleeping 
peasant, to whom I judged this summons was addressed, a 
horseman dashed up to the door and rode in; another as 
quickly followed him, and closed the door. 

“ Parbleu, D’Egville,” said the first who entered, “we 
have got a rare peppering ! ” 

“ Even so,” said the other, as he shook his hat, and threw 
off a cloak perfectly soaked with rain ; “ a la guerre comme a 
la guerre” 

This was said in French, when, turning towards me, the 
former said in German, “Be active, Master Jacob; these 
nags have had a smart ride of it.” Then suddenly, as the 
light flashed full on my features, he started back, and said, 
“ How is this — who are you? ” 

A very brief explanation answered this somewhat uncour- 
teous question, and at the same time I placed the marquise’s 
letter in his hand, saying, “The Count de Marsanne, I 
presume.” 

He took it hastily, and drew nigh to the lantern to peruse 
it. I had now full time to observe him, and saw that he was 
a tall and well-built man, of about seven or eight-and-twenty. 
His features were remarkably handsome, and, although 
slightly flushed by his late exertion, were as calm and com- 
posed as might be ; a short black mustache gave his upper 
lip a slight character of scorn, but the brow, open, frank, 
and good-tempered in its expression, redeemed this amply. 
He had not read many lines when, turning about, he apolo- 
gized in the most courteous terms for the manner of my 
reception. He had been on a shooting excursion for a few 
days back, and taken all his people with him, save the 
peasant who looked after the cattle. Then, introducing me 
to his friend, whom he called Count d’Egville, he led the way 
upstairs. 

It would be difficult to imagine a greater contrast to the 
dark and dreary coach-house than the comfortable suite of 


THE CHiTEAU OE ETTENHEIM.’ 


403 


apartments which we now traversed on our way to a large, 
well-furnished room, where a table was laid for supper, and 
a huge wood-fire blazed brightly on the hearth. A valet, of 
most respectful manner, received the count’s orders to pre- 
pare a room for me, after which my host and his friend 
retired to change their clothes. 

Although D’Egville was many years older, and of a graver, 
sterner fashion than the other, I could detect a degree of 
deference and respect in his manner towards him, which De 
Marsanne accepted like one well accustomed to receive it. 
It was a time, however, when in the wreck of fortune so 
many men lived in a position of mere dependence that I 
thought nothing of this, nor had I even the time, as Count 
de Marsanne entered. From my own preconceived notions 
as to his being Laura’s lover, I was quite prepared to answer 
a hundred impatient inquiries about the marquise and her 
niece ; and as we were now alone, I judged that he would 
deem the time a favorable one to talk of them. What was 
my surprise, however, when he turned the conversation 
exclusively to the topic of my own journey, — the route I 
had travelled. He knew the country perfectly, and spoke of 
the various towns and their inhabitants with acuteness and 
tact. 

His Royalist leanings did not, like those of the marquise, 
debar him from feeling a strong interest respecting the 
success of the Republican troops, with whose leaders he was 
thoroughly acquainted, knowing all their peculiar excellences 
and defaults as though he had lived in intimacy with them. 
Of Bonaparte’s genius he was the most enraptured admirer, 
and would not hear of any comparison between him and the 
other great captains of the day. D’Egville at last made his 
appearance, and we sat down to an excellent supper, enli- 
vened by the conversation of our host, who, whatever the 
theme, talked well and pleasingly. 

I was in a mood to look for flaws in his character, — my 
jealousy was still urging me to seek for whatever I could 
find fault with, — and yet all my critical shrewdness could 
only detect a slight degree of pride in his manner, not dis- 
playing itself by any presumption, but by a certain urbanity 
that smacked of condescension ; but even this at last went 


404 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


off, and before I wished him good-night, I felt that I had 
never met any one so gifted with agreeable qualities nor pos- 
sessed of such captivating manners as himself. Even his 
Royalism had its fascinations, for it was eminently national, 
and showed at every moment that he was far more of a 
Frenchman than a monarchist. We parted without one word 
of allusion to the marquise or to Laura ! Had this singular 
fact any influence upon the favorable impression I had con- 
ceived of him, or was I unconsciously grateful for the relief 
thus given to all my jealous tormentings ? Certain is it that 
I felt infinitely happier than I ever fancied I should be under 
his roof, and as I lay down in my bed thanked my stars that 
he was not my rival. 

When I awoke the next morning I was some minutes 
before I could remember where I was, and as I still lay, 
gradually recalling myself to memory, the valet entered to 
announce the count. 

“ I have come to say adieu for a few hours,” said he ; “ a 
very pressing appointment requires me to be at Pfortzheim 
to-day, and I have to ask that you will excuse my absence. 
I know that I may take this liberty without any appearance 
of rudeness, for the marquise has told me all about you. 
Pray, then, try and amuse yourself till evening, and we shall 
meet at supper.” 

I was not sorry that D’Egville was to accompany him, and, 
turning on my side, dozed off to sleep away some of the 
gloomy hours of a winter’s day. 

In this manner several days were passed, the count 
absenting himself each morning, and returning at nightfall, 
— sometimes accompanied by D’Egville, sometimes alone. 
It was evident enough from the appearance of his horses at 
his return, as well as from his own jaded looks, that he had 
ridden hard and far; but, except a chance allusion to the 
state of the roads or the weather, it was a topic to which he 
never referred, nor, of course, did I ever advert. Meanwhile 
our intimacy grew closer and franker. The theme of politics, 
a forbidden subject between men so separated, was con- 
stantly discussed between us ; and I could not help feeling 
flattered at the deference with which he listened to opinions 
from one so much his junior, and so inferior in knowledge, 


THE CHATEAU OE ETTENHEIM.’ 


405 


as myself. Nothing could be more moderate than his views 
of government, only provided that it was administered by 
the rightful sovereign. The claim of a king to his throne he 
declared to be the foundation of all the rights of property, 
and which, if once shaken or disputed, would inevitably lead 
to the wildest theories of democratic equality. “I don’t 
want to convert you,” he would say, laughingly; 44 the son 
of an old Garde du Corps, the born gentleman, has but to 
live to learn. It may come a little later or a little earlier, 
but you’ll end as a good monarchist.” 

One evening he was unusually late in returning, and when 
he came was accompanied by seven or eight companions, — 
some younger, some older, than himself, but all men whose 
air and bearing bespoke their rank in life, while their names 
recalled the thoughts of old French chivalry. I remember 
among them was a Coigny, a Grammont, and a Rochefou- 
cauld, — the last as lively a specimen of Parisian wit and 
brilliancy as ever fluttered along the sunny Boulevards. 

De Marsanne, while endeavoring to enjoy himself and 
entertain his guests, was, to my thinking, more serious than 
usual, and seemed impatient at D’Egville’s absence, for 
whose coming we now waited supper. 

4 4 1 should not wonder if he was lost in the deep mud of 
those cross-roads,” said Coigny. 

44 Or perhaps he has fallen into the Republic,” said 
Rochefoucauld ; 4 4 it ’s the only thing dirtier that I know 
of.” 

44 Monsieur forgets that I wear its cloth,” said I, in a low 
whisper to him ; and low as it was, De Marsanne overheard 
it. 

44 Yes, Charles,” cried he, 44 you must apologize, and on 
the spot, for the rudeness.” 

Rochefoucauld reddened and hesitated. 

44 1 insist, sir,” cried De Marsanne, with a tone of supe- 
riority I had never seen him assume before. 

“Perhaps,” said he, with a half-sneer, 44 Monsieur de 
Tiernay might refuse to accept my excuses.” 

44 In that case, sir,” interposed De Marsanne, 44 the quarrel 
will become mine ; for he is my guest, and lives here under 
the safeguard of my honor.” 


406 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


Rochefoucauld bowed submissively, and with the air of a 
man severely but justly rebuked ; and then advancing to me 
said, 44 I beg to tender you my apology, Monsieur, for an 
expression which should never have been uttered by me in 
your presence.” 

“Quite sufficient, sir,” said I, bowing, and anxious to 
conclude a scene which for the first time had disturbed the 
harmony of our meetings. Slight as was the incident, its 
effects were yet visible in the disconcerted looks of the 
party; and I could see that more than 'one glance was 
directed towards me with an expression of coldness and 
distrust. 

“ Here comes D’Egville at last,” said one, throwing open 
the window to listen ; the night was starlit, but dark, and 
the air calm and motionless. “ I certainly heard a horse’s 
tread on the causeway.” 

“I hear distinctly the sound of several,” cried Coigny; 
“ and, if I mistake not much, so does Monsieur de Tiernay.” 

This sudden allusion turned every eye towards me, as I 
stood still suffering from the confusion of the late scene. 
“ Yes ; I hear the tramp of horses, and cavalry too, I should 
say, by their measured tread.” 

“There was a trumpet-call! ” cried Coigny; “what does 
that mean?” 

“It is the signal to take open order,” said I, answering as 
if the question were addressed to myself. “It is a picket 
taking a 4 reconnaissance.’ ” 

44 How do you know that, sir?” said Grammont, sternly. 

4 ‘Ay! how does he know that?” cried several, passion- 
ately, as they closed around me. 

44 You must ask in another tone, messieurs,” said I, calmly, 
44 if you expect to be answered.” 

“They mean to say, how do you happen to know the 
German trumpet-calls, Tiernay?” said De Marsanne, mildly, 
as he laid his hand on my arm. 

44 It ’s a French signal,” said I ; 44 1 ought to know it well.” 

Before my words were well uttered the door was thrown 
open, and D’Egville burst into the room, pale as death, his 
clothes all mud-stained and disordered. Making his way 
through the others, he whispered a few words in De Mar- 
sanne’s ear. 


THE CHATEAU OF ETTENHEIM. 1 


407 


“ Impossible ! ” cried the other ; “we are here in the terri- 
tory of the margrave.” 

“ It is as I say,” replied D’Egville ; u there ’s not a second 
to lose ; it may be too late even now. By Heavens it is ! 
they ’ve drawn a cordon round the CMteau.” 

“What’s to be done, gentlemen?” said De Marsanne, 
seating himself calmly, and crossing his arms on his breast. 

“What do you say, sir?” cried Grammont, advancing to 
me with an air of insolent menace ; “ you, at least, ought to 
know the way out of this difficulty.” 

“ Or, by Heaven, his own road shall be one of the shortest, 
considering the length of the journey,” muttered another; 
and I could hear the sharp click of a pistol-cock as he spoke 
the words. 

“This is unworthy of you, gentlemen, and of me,” said 
De Marsanne, haughtily ; and he gazed around him with a 
look that seemed to abash them ; “ nor is it a time to hold 
such disputation. There is another and a very difficult call 
to answer. Are we agreed?” Before he could finish the 
sentence the door was burst open, and several dragoons in 
French uniforms entered and ranged themselves across the 
entrance, while a colonel, with his sabre drawn, advanced in 
front of them. 

“ This is brigandage,” cried De Marsanne, passionately, 
as he drew his sword, and seemed meditating a spring 
through them; but he was immediately surrounded by his 
friends and disarmed. Indeed nothing could be more hope- 
less than resistance ; more than double our number were 
already in the room, while the hoarse murmur of voices 
without and the tramp of heavy feet announced a strong 
party. 

At a signal from their officer, the dragoons unslung their 
carbines, and held them at the cock, when the colonel called 
out, “ Which of you, messieurs, is the Due d’Enghien?” 

“ If you come to arrest him,” replied De Marsanne, “ you 
ought to have his description in your warrant.” 

“Is the descendant of a Conde ashamed to own his 
name? ” asked the colonel, with a sneer. “ But we ’ll make 
short work of it, sirs ; I arrest you all. My orders are per- 
emptory, messieurs. If you resist, or attempt to escape — ” 
and he made a significant sign with his hand to finish. 


408 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


The due, for I need no longer call him De Marsanne, never 
spoke a word, but with folded arms calmly walked forward, 
followed by his little household. As we descended the stairs, 
we found ourselves in the midst of about thirty dismounted 
dragoons, all on the alert, and prepared for any resistance ; 
the remainder of a squadron were on horseback without. 
With a file of soldiers on either hand, we marched for about 
a quarter of a mile across the fields to a small mill, where a 
general officer and his staff seemed awaiting our arrival. 
Here, too, a picket of gens-d’armes was stationed ; a char- 
acter of force significant enough of the meaning of the enter- 
prise. We were hurriedly marched into the court of the mill, 
the owner of which stood between two soldiers, trembling 
from head to foot with terror. 

44 Which is the Due d’Enghien? ” asked the colonel of the 
miller. 

4 4 That is he with the scarlet vest ; ” and the prince nodded 
an assent. 

“ Your age, Monsieur? ” asked the colonel of the prince. 

“Thirty-two, — that is, I should have been so much in 
August, were it not for this visit,” said he, smiling. 

The colonel wrote on rapidly for a few minutes, and then 
showed the paper to the general, who briefly said, “Yes, 
yes ; this does not concern you nor me.” 

“ I wish to ask, sir,” said the prince, addressing the gen- 
eral, 4 4 do you make this arrest with the consent of the 
authorities of this country, or do you do so in defiance of 
them ? ” 

44 You must reserve questions like that for the court who 
will judge you, Monsieur de Conde,” said the officer, roughly. 
“If you wish for any articles of dress from your quarters, 
you had better think of them. My orders are to convey you 
to Strasbourg. Is there anything so singular in the fact, sir, 
that you should look so much astonished ? ” 

44 There is, indeed,” said the prince, sorrowfully. “I 
shall be the first of my house who ever crossed that frontier 
a prisoner.” 

44 But not the first who carried arms against his country,” 
rejoined the other, — a taunt the due only replied to by a 
look of infinite scorn and contempt. 


THE CHATEAU OF ETTENHEIM.’ 


409 


With a speed that told plainly the character of the expe- 
dition, we were now placed, two together, on country cars, 
and driven at a rapid pace towards Strasbourg. Relays of 
cattle awaited us on the road, and we never halted but for a 
few minutes during the entire journey. My companion on 
this dreary day was the Baron de St. Jacques, the aide-de- 
camp to the due ; but he never spoke once ; indeed, he 
scarcely lifted his head during the whole road. 

Heaven knows it was a melancholy journey, and neither 
the country nor the season were such as to lift the mind from 
sorrow; and yet, strange enough, the miles glided over 
rapidly, and to this hour I cannot remember by what magic 
the way seemed so short. The thought that for several days 
back I had been living in closest intimacy with a distin- 
guished prince of the Bourbon family ; that we had spent 
hours together discussing themes and questions which were 
those of his own house, canvassing the chances and weigh- 
ing the claims of which he was himself the asserter, — was a 
most exciting feeling. How I recalled now all the modest 
deference of his manner, his patient endurance of my crude 
opinions, his generous admissions regarding his adversaries, 
and above all his ardent devotion to France, whatever the 
hand that swayed her destinies; and then the chivalrous 
boldness of his character, blended with an almost girlish 
gentleness, — how princely were such traits ! 

From these thoughts I wandered on to others about his 
arrest and capture, from which, however, I could not believe 
any serious issue was to come. Bonaparte is too noble- 
minded not to feel the value of such a life as this. Men 
like the prince can be more heavily fettered by generous 
treatment than by all the chains that ever bound a felon. 
But what will be done with him, what with his followers ; and 
lastly, not at all the pleasantest consideration, what is to 
come of Maurice Tiernay, who, to say the least, has been 
found in very suspicious company, and without a shadow of 
an explanation to account for it? This last thought just 
occurred to me as we crossed over the long bridge of boats, 
and entered Strasbourg. 


CHAPTER XLI. 


AN “ordinary” acquaintance. 

The Due d’Enghien and his aide-de-camp were forwarded 
with the utmost speed to Paris ; the remainder of us were 
imprisoned at Strasbourg. What became of my companions 
I know not; but I was sent on, along with a number of 
others, about a month later, to Nancy, to be tried by a 
military commission. I may mention it here as a singular 
fact illustrating the secrecy of the period, that it was not 
till long after this time I learned the terrible fate of the poor 
Prince de Conde. Had I known it, it is more than probable 
that I should have utterly despaired of my own safety. The 
dreadful story of Vincennes, the mock trial, and the mid- 
night execution are all too well known to my readers ; nor is 
it necessary I should refer to an event on which I myself can 
throw no new light. That the sentence was determined on 
before his arrest, and that the grave was dug while the 
victim was still sleeping the last slumber before ‘ ‘ the sleep 
that knows not waking,” the evidences are strong and unde- 
niable. But an anecdote which circulated at the time, and 
which so far as I know has never appeared in print, would 
seem to show that there was complicity at least in the crime, 
and that the secret was not confined to the First Consul’s 
breast. 

On that fatal night of the 20th March, Talleyrand was 
seated at a card-table at Caulaincourt’s house at Paris. 
The party was about to rise from play, when suddenly the 
pendule on the chimney-piece struck two. It was in one 
of those accidental pauses in the conversation when any 
sound is heard with unusual distinctness. Talleyrand started 
as he heard it, and then turning to Caulaincourt, whis- 
pered, “Yes; ’t is all over now!” words which, acciden- 


AN “ ORDINARY ” ACQUAINTANCE. 


411 


tally overheard, without significance, were yet to convey a 
terrible meaning when the dreadful secret of that night was 
disclosed. 

If the whole of Europe was convulsed by the enormity of 
this crime, the foulest that stains the name of Bonaparte, 
the Parisians soon forgot it in the deeper interest of the great 
event that was now approaching, — the assumption of the 
imperial title by Napoleon. 

The excitement on this theme was so great and absorbing 
that nothing else was spoken or thought of. Private sorrows 
and afflictions were disregarded and despised, and to obtrude 
one’s hardships on the notice of others seemed, at this 
juncture, a most ineffable selfishness. That I, a prisoner, 
friendless and unknown as I was, found none to sympathize 
with me or take interest in my fate, is therefore nothing 
extraordinary. In fact, I appeared to have been entirely for- 
gotten ; and though still in durance, nothing was said either 
of the charge to be preferred against me, nor the time when 
I should be brought to trial. 

Giacourt, an old lieutenant of the marines, and at that 
time deputy-governor of the Temple, was kind and good- 
natured towards me, occasionally telling of the events which 
were happening without, and giving me the hope that some 
general amnesty would, in all likelihood, liberate all those 
whose crimes were not beyond the reach of mercy. The 
little cell I occupied (and to Giacourt’s kindness I owed the 
sole possession of it) looked out upon the tall battlements 
of the outer walls, which excluded all view beyond, and thus 
drove me within myself for occupation and employment. In 
this emergency I set about to write some notices of my life, 
some brief memoirs of those changeful fortunes which had 
accompanied me from boyhood. Many of those incidents 
which I relate now, and many of those traits of mind or 
temper that I recall, were then for the first time noted down, 
and thus graven on my memory. 

My early boyhood, my first experience as a soldier, the 
campaign of the Schwartz Wald, Ireland, and Genoa, all 
were mentioned ; and writing as I did solely for myself and 
my own eyes, I set down many criticisms on the generals and 
their plans of campaign, which, if intended for the inspection 


412 


MAURICE TIERNA5T. 


of others, would have been the greatest presumption and 
impertinence, — and in this way Moreau, Hoche, Massena, 
and even Bonaparte came in for a most candid and impartial 
criticism. 

How Germany might have been conquered, how Ireland 
ought to have been invaded, in what way Italy should have 
been treated, and lastly the grand political error of the 
seizure of the Due d’Enghien, were subjects that I discussed 
and determined with consummate boldness and self-satis- 
faction. I am almost overwhelmed with shame, even now, as 
I think of that absurd chronicle, with its rash judgments, 
its crude opinions, and its pretentious decisions. 

So fascinated had I become with my task that I rose early 
to resume it each morning, and used to fall asleep cogitating 
on the themes for the next day, and revolving within myself 
all the passages of interest I should commemorated A man 
must have known imprisonment to feel all the value that can 
be attached to any object, no matter how mean or insignificant, 
that can employ the thoughts, amuse the fancy, or engage 
the affections. The narrow cell expands under such magic ; 
the barred casement is a free portal to the glorious sun 
and the free air ; the captive himself is but the student bending 
over his allotted task:. To this happy frame of mind had I 
come, without a thought or a wish beyond the narrow walls at 
either side of me, when a sad disaster befell me. On awak- 
ing one morning, as usual, to resume my labor, my manu- 
script was gone ; the table and writing materials, all had 
disappeared ; and, to increase my discomfiture, the turnkey 
informed me that Lieutenant Giacourt had been removed 
from his post, and sent off to some inferior station in the 
provinces. 

I will not advert to the dreary time which followed this 
misfortune, a time in which the hours passed on unmeasured 
and almost unfelt. Without speculation, without a wish, I 
passed my days in a stupid indolence akin to torpor. Had 
the prison-doors been open, I doubt if I should have had the 
energy to make my escape. Life itself ceased to have any 
value for me ; but somehow I did not desire death. I was in 
this miserable mood when the turnkey awoke me one day as 
I was dozing on my bed. 


AN “ORDINARY” ACQUAINTANCE. 


418 


44 Get up, and prepare yourself to receive a visitor,” said 
he. “There’s an officer of the staff without, come to see 
you ; ” and as he spoke, a young, slightly-formed man 
entered, in the uniform of a captain, who, making a sign for 
the turnkey to withdraw, took his seat at my bedside. 

“Don’t get up, Monsieur; you look ill and weak, so 
pray let me not disturb you,” said he, in a voice of kindly 
meaning. 

“I’m not ill,” said I, with an effort, — but my hollow 
utterance and my sunken cheeks contradicted my words, — 
“ but I have been sleeping ; I usually doze at this hour.” 

“ The best thing a man can do in prison, I suppose,” said 
he, smiling good-naturedly. 

“ No, not the best,” said I, catching up his words too 
literally. “I used to write the whole day long, till they 
carried away my paper and my pens.” 

“ It is just of that very thing I have come to speak, sir,” 
resumed he. “ You intended that memoir for publication? ” 

“No; never!” 

“ Then for private perusal among a circle of friends? ” 

“ Just as little. I scarcely know three people in the world 
who would acknowledge that title.” 

“ Y r ou had an object, however, in composing it?” 

“Yes; to occupy thought ; to save me from — from — ” 
I hesitated, for I was ashamed of the confession that nearly 
burst from me, and, after a pause, I said, “ from being such 
as I now am ! ” 

“You wrote it for yourself alone, then?” 

“Yes.” 

“Unprompted, without any suggestion from another?” 

“ Is it here,” said I, looking around my cell, — “ is it here 
that I should be likely to find a fellow-laborer? ” 

“No; but I mean to ask, were the sentiments your own, 
without any external influence or any persuasions from 
others ? ” 

“ Quite my own.” 

4 4 And the narrative is true ? ” 

44 Strictly so, I believe.” 

44 Even to your meeting with the Due d’Enghien, — it was 
purely accidental ? ” 


414 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ That is, I never knew him to be the due till the moment 
of his arrest ? ” 

“Just so; you thought he was merely a Royalist noble. 
Then, why did you not address a memoir to that effect to the 
minister? ” 

“ I thought it would be useless ; when they made so little 
of a Conde, what right had I to suppose they would think 
much about me?” 

“If he could have proved his innocence — ” he stopped, 
and then in an altered voice said : “ But as to this memoir; 
you assume considerable airs of military knowledge in it, and 
many of the opinions smack of heads older than yours.” 

“They are, I repeat, my own altogether; as to their pre- 
sumption, I have already told you they were intended solely 
for my own eye.” 

“ So that you are not a Royalist? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Never were one? ” 

“ Never.” 

“ In what way would you employ yourself, if set at liberty 
to-day ? ” 

I stared, and felt confused ; for however easy I found it to 
refer to the past, and reason on it, any speculation as to the 
future was a considerable difficulty. 

“You hesitate; you have not yet made up your mind, 
apparently.” 

“It is not that ; I am trying to think of liberty, trying to 
fancy myself free, but I cannot ! ” said I, with a weary sigh ; 
“ the air of this cell has sapped my courage and my energy ; 
a little more will finish the ruin ! ” 

“ And yet you are not much above four or five-and-twenty 
years of age ? ” 

“ Not yet twenty ! ” said I. 

“ Come, come, Tiernay, this is too early to be sick of 
life ! ” said he, and the kind tone touched me so that I burst 
into tears. They were bitter tears, too ; for, while my heart 
was relieved by this gush of feeling, I was ashamed at my 
own weakness. “ Come, I say,” continued he, “ this memoir 
of yours might have done you much mischief ; happily it has 
not done so. Give me the permission to throw it in the fire, 


AN “ORDINARY” ACQUAINTANCE. 


415 


and, instead of it, address a respectful petition to the head 
of the State, setting forth your services, and stating the 
casualty by which you were implicated in Royalism. I will 
take care that it meets his eye, and, if possible, will support 
its prayer ; above all, ask for re-instalment in your grade and 
a return to the service. It may be, perhaps, that you can 
mention some superior officer who would vouch for your 
future conduct.” 

“ Except Colonel Mahon — ” 

“Not the Colonel Mahon who commanded the Thirteenth 
Cuirassiers ? ” 

“ The same ! ” 

“ That name would little serve you,” said he, coldly ; “he 
has been placed en retraite some time back ; and if your 
character can call no other witness than him, your case is not 
too favorable.” He saw that the speech had disconcerted 
me, and soon added, “Never mind, keep to the memoir; 
state your case and your apology, and leave the rest to For- 
tune. When can you let me have it? ” 

“ By to-morrow — to-night, if necessary.” 

“ To-morrow will do well, and so good-by. I will order 
them to supply you with writing materials ; ” and slapping 
me good-naturedly on the shoulder, he cried, “ Courage, my 
lad ! ” and departed. 

Before I lay down to sleep that night I completed my 
“ memoir,” the great difficulty of which I found to consist in 
giving it that dry brevity which I knew Bonaparte would 
require. In this, however, I believe I succeeded at last, 
making the entire document not to occupy one sheet of paper. 
The officer had left his card of address, which I found was 
inscribed Monsieur Bourrienne, Rue Lafitte, — a name that 
subsequently was to be well known to the world. 

I directed my manuscript to his care, and lay down with a 
lighter heart than I had known for many a day. I will not 
weary my reader with the tormenting vacillations of hope and 
fear which followed. Day after day went over, and no 
answer came to me. I addressed two notes, respectful but 
urgent, begging for some information as to my demand ; 
none came. A month passed thus, when one morning the 
governor of the Temple entered my room with an open letter 
in his hand. 


416 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“This is an order for your liberation, Monsieur de 
Tiernay,” said he; “ you are free.” 

“Am I reinstated in my grade?” asked I, eagerly. 

He shook his head, and said nothing. 

“ Is there no mention of my restoration to the service?” 

“ None, sir.” 

“Then what is to become of me, — to what end am I 
liberated ? ” cried I, passionately. 

‘ 4 Paris is a great city, there is a wide world beyond it ; and 
a man so young as you are must have few resources, or he 
will carve out a good career for himself.” 

“ Say, rather, he must have few resentments, sir,” cried I, 
bitterly, “ or he will easily hit upon a bad one; ” and with 
this, I packed up the few articles I possessed, and prepared 
to depart. 

I remember it well. It was between two and three o’clock 
of the afternoon, on a bright day in spring, that I stood on 
the Quai Voltaire, a very small packet of clothes in a bundle 
in one hand, and a cane in the other, something short of three 
louis in my purse, and as much depression in my heart as 
ever settled down in that of a youth not full nineteen. 
Liberty is a glorious thing, and mine had been perilled often 
enough to give me a hearty appreciation of its blessing ; but 
at that moment, as I stood friendless and companionless in a 
great thoroughfare of a great city, I almost wished myself 
back again within the dreary walls of the Temple, for some- 
how it felt like home ! It is true, one must have had a lonely 
lot in life before he could surround the cell of a prison with 
such attributes as these. Perhaps I have more of the cat- 
like affection for a particular spot than most men ; but I 
do find that I attach myself to walls with a tenacity that 
strengthens as I grow older, and, like my brother parasite the 
ivy, my grasp becomes more rigid the longer I cling. 

If I know of few merely sensual gratifications higher than 
a lounge through Paris at the flood-tide of its population, 
watching the varied hues and complexions of its strange 
inhabitants, displaying as they do in feature, air, and gesture 
so much more of character and purpose than other people, — 
so also do I feel that there is something indescribably miser- 
able in being alone, unknown, and unnoticed in that vast 


AN “ORDINARY” ACQUAINTANCE. 


41T 


throng, destitute of means for the present and devoid of hope 
for the future. 

Some were bent on business, some on pleasure ; some were 
evidently bent on killing time till the hour of more agreeable 
occupation should arrive ; some were loitering along, gazing 
at the prints in shop- windows, or half listlessly stopping to 
read at book-stalls. There was not only every condition of 
mankind, from wealth to mendicancy, but every frame of 
mind, from enjoyment to utter ennui ; and yet I thought I 
could not hit upon any one individual who looked as forlorn 
and cast-away as myself. However, there were many who 
passed me that day who would gladly have changed fortune 
with me ; but it would have been difficult to persuade me of 
the fact in the mood I then was. 

At the time I speak of, there was a species of cheap ordi- 
nary held in the open air on the quay, where people of the 
humblest condition used to dine. I need scarcely describe 
the fare, — the reader may conceive what it was, which, wine 
included, cost only four sous ; a rude table without a cloth, 
some wooden platters, and an iron rail to which the knives 
and forks were chained, formed the “ equipage,” the cookery 
bearing a due relation to the elegance of these accessories. 
As for the company, if not polite it was certainly picturesque, 
consisting of laborers of the lowest class, the sweepers of 
crossings, hackney cabmen out of employ, that poorest of the 
poor who try to earn a livelihood by dragging the Seine for 
lost articles ; and, finally, the motley race of idlers who 
vacillate between beggary and ballad-singing, with now and 
then a dash at highway robbery for a distraction, — a class, 
be it said without paradox, which in Paris includes a consid- 
erable number of tolerably honest folk. 

The moment was the eventful one in which France was 
about once more to become a monarchy ; and, as may be in- 
ferred from the character of the people, it was a time of high 
excitement and enthusiasm. The nation, even in its humblest 
citizen, seemed to feel some of the reflected glory that glanced 
from the great achievements of Bonaparte, and his elevation 
was little other than a grand manifestation of national self- 
esteem. That he knew how to profit by this sentiment, and 
incorporate his own with the country’s glory so that they 

27 


418 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


seemed to be inseparable, is not among the lowest nor the 
least of the efforts of his genius. 

The paroxysm of national vanity, for it was indeed no less, 
imparted a peculiar character to the period. A vainglorious, 
boastful spirit was abroad ; men met each other with high- 
sounding gratulations about French greatness and splendor, 
the sway we wielded over the rest of Europe, and the influ- 
ence with which we impressed our views over the entire 
globe. Since the fall of the monarchy there had been half 
a dozen national fevers. There was the great Fraternal 
and Equality one ; there was the era of classical associations, 
with all their train of trumpery affectation in dress and 
manner ; then came the conquering spirit, with the flattering 
spectacle of great armies ; and now, as if to complete the 
cycle, there grew up that exaggerated conception of “ France 
and her mission ” — an unlucky phrase that has since done 
plenty of mischief — which seemed to carry the nation into 
the seventh heaven of overweening self-love. 

If I advert to this here, it is but passingly, neither stop- 
ping to examine its causes nor seeking to inquire the conse- 
quences that ensued from it, but, as it were, chronicling the 
fact as it impressed me as I stood that day on the Quai 
Voltaire, perhaps the only unimpassioned lounger along its 
crowded thoroughfare. 

Not even the ordinary a quatre sous claimed exemption 
from this sentiment. It might be supposed that meagre diet 
and sour wine were but sorry provocatives to national enthu- 
siasm ; but even they could minister to the epidemic ardor, 
and the humble dishes of that frugal board masqueraded 
under titles that served to feed popular vanity. Of this I 
was made suddenly aware as I stood looking over the parapet 
into the river, and heard the rude voices of the laborers as 
they called for cutlets a la Caire, potatoes en Mamelouques , 
or roast beef a la Monte Notte , while every goblet of their 
wine was tossed off to some proud sentiment of national 
supremacy. 

Amused by the scene, so novel in all its bearings, I took 
my place at the table, not sorry for the excuse to myself for 
partaking so humble a repast. 

“ Sacre bleu ! ” cried a rough-looking fellow with a red night- 


AN “ORDINARY” ACQUAINTANCE. 


419 


cap set on one side of the head, “ make room there ! we have 
the aristocrates coming down among us.” 

“ Monsieur is heartily welcome,” said another, making 
room for me ; “we are only flattered by such proofs of con- 
fidence and esteem.” 

“ Ay, parbleu! ” cried a third; “the Empire is coming, 
and we shall be well-bred and well-mannered. I intend to 
give up the river, and take to some more gentlemanlike trade 
than dredging for dead men.” 

‘ ‘ And I, I ’ll never sharpen anything under a rapier or a 
dress sword for the court,” said a knife-grinder; “ we have 
been living like canaille hitherto — nothing better.” 

“ AV Empire, a V Empire!” shouted half a dozen voices 
in concert ; and the glasses were drained to the toast with a 
loud cheer. 

Directly opposite to me sat a thin, pale, mild-looking man 
of about fifty, in a kind of stuff robe like the dress of a village 
curate. His appearance, though palpably poor, was vener- 
able and imposing, — not the less so, perhaps, from its con- 
trast with the faces and gestures at either side of him. Once 
or twice, while these ebullitions of enthusiasm burst forth, 
his eyes met mine ; and I read, or fancied that I read, a look 
of kindred appreciation in their mild and gentle glance. 
The expression was less reproachful than compassionate, as 
though in pity for the ignorance rather than in reprobation 
for the folly. Now, strangely enough, this was precisely the 
very sentiment of my own heart at that moment. I remem- 
bered a somewhat similar enthusiasm for republican liberty 
by men just as unfitted to enjoy it ; and I thought to myself, 
the Empire, like the Convention or the Directory, is a mere 
fabulous conception to these poor fellows, who, whatever may 
be the regime, will still be hewers of wood and drawers of 
water to the end of all time. 

As I was pondering over this, I felt something touch my 
arm, and on turning perceived that my opposite neighbor 
had now seated himself at my side, and in a low, soft voice 
was bidding me “ Good-day.” After one or two common- 
place remarks upon the weather and the scene, he seemed to 
feel that some apology for his presence in such a place was 
needful, for he said, — 


420 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ You are here, Monsieur, from a feeling of curiosity, — 
that I see well enough ; but I come for a very different 
reason. I am the pastor of a mountain village of the 
Arcleche, and have come to Paris in search of a young girl, the 
daughter of one of my flock, who, it is feared, has been car- 
ried off by some evil influence from her home and her friends, 
to seek fortune and fame in this rich capital ; for she is sin- 
gularly beautiful, and gifted too; sings divinely, and im- 
provises poetry with a genius that seems inspiration.” 

There was a degree of enthusiasm, blended with simplicity, 
in the poor cure’s admiration of his 4 4 lost sheep ” that 
touched me deeply. He had been now three weeks in vain 
pursuit, and was at last about to turn homeward, discomfited 
and unsuccessful. Lisette was the very soul of the little 
hamlet, and he knew not how life was to be carried on there 
without her. The old loved her as a daughter ; the young 
were rivals for her regard. 

44 And to me,” said thep^re, 44 whom, in all the solitude of 
my lonely lot, literature, and especially poetry, consoles 
many an hour of sadness or melancholy, — to me, she was 
like a good angel, her presence diffusing light as she crossed 
my humble threshold, and elevating my thoughts above the 
little crosses and accidents of daily life.” 

So interested had I become in this tale that I listened 
while he told every circumstance of the little locality ; and 
walking along at his side, I wandered out of the city, still 
hearing of La Marche, as the village was called, till I knew 
the ford where the blacksmith lived, and the miller with the 
cross wife, and the lame schoolmaster, and Pierre the post- 
master, who read out the “Moniteur” each evening under 
the elms, — even to Jacques Fulgeron the tapageur , who had 
served at Jemappes, and, with his wounded hand and his 
waxed mustache, was the terror of all peaceable folk. 

44 You should come and see us, my dear monsieur,” said 
he to me, as I showed some more than common interest in 
the narrative. 44 You, who seem to study character, would 
find something better worth the notice than these hardened 
natures of city life. Come, and spend a week or two with 
me ; and if you do not like our people and their ways, I am 
but a sorry physiognomist.” 


AN “ORDINARY” ACQUAINTANCE. 


421 


It is needless to say that I was much flattered by this 
kind proof of confidence and good-will; and finally it was 
agreed upon between us that I should aid him in his search 
for three days, after which, if still unsuccessful, we should 
set out together for La Marche. It was easy to see that the 
poor cure was pleased at my partnership in the task, for there 
were several public places of resort — theatres , 44 spectacles,” 
and the like — to which he scrupled to resort ; and these he 
now willingly conceded to my inspection, having previously 
given me so accurate a description of La Lisette that I 
fancied I should recognize her amongst a thousand. If her 
long black eyelashes did not betray her, her beautiful teeth 
were sure to do so ; or, if I heard her voice, there could be 
no doubt then; and, lastly, her foot would as infallibly 
identify her as did Cinderella’s. 

For want of better, it was agreed upon that we should 
make the Restaurant a Quatre Sous our rendezvous each day, 
to exchange our confidences and report progress. It will 
scarcely be believed how even this much of a pursuit diverted 
my mind from its own dark dreamings, and how eagerly my 
thoughts pursued the new track that was opened to them. 
It was the utter listlessness, the nothingness of my life, that 
was weighing me down ; and already I saw an escape from 
this in the pursuit of a good object. I could wager that the 
pastor of La Marche never thought so intensely, so uninter- 
ruptedly, of Lisette as did I for the four-and-twenty hours 
that followed. It was not only that I had created her image 
to suit my fancy, but I had invented a whole narrative of her 
life and adventures since her arrival in Paris. 

My firm conviction being that it was lost time to seek for 
her in obscure and out-of-the-way quarters of the city, I 
thought it best to pursue the search in the thronged and 
fashionable resorts of the gay world, — the assemblies and 
theatres. Strong inrthis conviction, I changed one of my 
three gold pieces to purchase a ticket for the opera. The 
reader may smile at the sacrifice ; but when he who thinks 
four sous enough for a dinner pays twelve francs for the 
liberty to be crushed in the crowded parterre of a play-house, 
he is indeed buying pleasure at a costly price. It was some- 
thing more than a fifth of all I possessed in the world ; but, 


422 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


after all, my chief regret arose from thinking that it left me 
so few remaining u throws of the dice ” for fortune. 

I have often reflected since that day by what a mere acci- 
dent I was present, and yet the spectacle was one that I have 
never forgotten. It was the last time the First Consul 
appeared in public before his assumption of the imperial 
title ; and at no period through all his great career was the 
enthusiasm more impassioned regarding him. He sat in the 
box adjoining the stage, — Cambac&res and Lebrun, with a 
crowd of others, standing, and not sitting, around and 
behind his chair. When he appeared, the whole theatre rose 
to greet him ; and three several times was he obliged to rise 
and acknowledge the salutations. And with what a stately 
condescension did he make these slight acknowledgments ! 
what haughtiness was there in the glance he threw around 
him ! I have often heard it said, and I have seen it also 
written, that previous to his assumption of the crown Bona- 
parte’s manner exhibited the mean arts and subtle devices of 
a candidate on the hustings, dispensing all the flatteries and 
scattering all the promises that such occasions are so prolific 
of. I cannot, of course, pretend to contradict this statement 
positively ; but I can record the impression which that scene 
made upon me as decidedly the opposite of this assumption. 
I have repeatedly seen him since that event, but never do I 
remember his calm, cold features more impassively stern, 
more proudly collected, than on that night. 

Every allusion of the piece that could apply to him was 
eagerly caught up. Not a phrase nor a chance word that 
could compliment was passed over in silence ; and if great- 
ness and glory were accorded, as if by an instinctive rever- 
ence the vast assemblage turned towards him to lay their 
homage at his feet. I watched him narrowly, and could see 
that he received them all as his rightful tribute, the earnest 
of the debt the nation owed him. Among the incidents of 
that night, I remember one which actually for the moment 
convulsed the house with its enthusiasm. One of the officers 
of his suite had somehow stumbled against Bonaparte’s hat, 
which, on entering, he had thrown carelessly beside his chair. 
Stooping down and lifting it up, he perceived to whom it 
belonged ; and then remarking the mark of a bullet on the 


AN “ORDINARY” ACQUAINTANCE. 


423 


edge, he showed it significantly to a general near him. 
Slight and trivial as was the incident, it was instantly caught 
up by the parterre. A low murmur ran quickly around ; and 
then a sudden cheer burst forth, for some one remembered 
it was the anniversary of Marengo ! And now the excite- 
ment became madness, and reiterated shouts proclaimed that 
the glory of that day was among the proudest memories of 
France. For once, and once only, did any trait of feeling 
show itself on that impassive face. I thought I could mark 
even a faint tinge of color in that sallow cheek, as in recog- 
nition he bowed a dignified salute to the waving and agitated 
assembly. 

I saw that proud face at moments when human ambition 
might have seemed to have reached its limit, and yet never 
with a haughtier look than on that night I speak of. His 
foot was already on the first step of the throne, and his 
spirit seemed to swell with the conscious force of coming 
greatness. 

And Lisette, all this time? Alas, I had totally forgotten 
her ! As the enthusiasm around me began to subside, I had 
time to recover myself, and look about me. There was much 
beauty and splendor to admire. Madame Junot was there, 
and Mademoiselle de Bessieres, with a crowd of others less 
known and scarcely less lovely. Not one, however, could I 
see that corresponded with my mind-drawn portrait of the 
peasant beauty ; and I scanned each face closely and criti- 
cally. There was female loveliness of every type, from the 
dark-eyed beauty of Spanish race to the almost divine regular- 
ity of a Raphaelite picture ; there was the brilliant aspect of 
fashion, too, — but nowhere could I see what I sought for, 
nowhere detect that image which imagination had stamped as 
that of the beauty of La Marche. 

If disappointed in my great object, I left the theatre with 
my mind full of all I had witnessed. The dreadful event of 
Ettenheim had terribly shaken Bonaparte in my esteem, yet 
how resist the contagious devotion of a whole nation, how 
remain cold in the midst of the burning zeal of all France? 
These thoughts brought me to the consideration of myself. 
Was I, or was I not, any longer a soldier of his army ; or 
was I disqualified for joining in that burst of national enthu- 


424 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


siasm which proclaimed that all France was ready to march 
under his banner? To-morrow I ’ll wait upon the minister of 
war, thought I, or I ’ll seek out the commanding officer of 
some regiment that I know, or at least a comrade ; and so I 
went on, endeavoring to frame a plan for my guidance as I 
strolled along the streets, which were now almost deserted. 
The shops were all closed ; of the hotels, such as were yet 
open were far too costly for means like mine ; and so, as the 
night was calm and balmy with the fresh air of spring, I 
resolved to pass it out of doors. I loitered then along the 
Champs Elysees, and at length stretching myself on the grass 
beneath the trees, lay down to sleep. “An odd bedroom 
enough,” thought I, “ for one who has passed the evening at 
the opera, and who has feasted his ears at the expense of his 
stomach.” I remembered, too, another night when the sky 
had been my canopy in Paris, when I slept beneath the 
shadow of the guillotine and the Place de Greve. “ Well,” 
thought I, 4 4 times are at least changed for the better since 
that day ; and my own fortunes are certainly not lower.” 

This comforting reflection closed my waking memories, 
and I slept soundly till morning. 


CHAPTER XLII. 


THE “COUNT DE MAUREPAS,” ALIAS . 

There is a wide gulf between him who opens his waking 
eyes in a splendid chamber, and with half-drowsy thoughts 
speculates on the pleasures of the coming day, and him who 
rising from the dew-moistened earth stretches his aching 
limbs for a second or so, and then hurries away to make his 
toilette at the nearest fountain. 

I have known both conditions, and yet, without being 
thought paradoxical, I would wish to say that there are some 
sensations attendant on the latter and the humbler lot which 
I would not exchange for all the voluptuous ease of the 
former. Let there be but youth, and there is something of 
heroism, something adventurous, in the notion of thus alone 
and unaided breasting the wide ocean of life, and like a 
hardy swimmer daring to stem the roughest breakers with- 
out one to succor him, that is worth all the security that 
even wealth can impart, all the conscious ease that luxury 
and affluence can supply. In a world and an age like ours, 
thought I, there must surely be some course for one young, 
active, and daring as I am. Even if France reject me, there 
are countries beyond the seas where energy and determina- 
tion will open a path. “ Courage, Maurice!” said I, as I 
dashed the sparkling water over my head ; ‘ ‘ the past has not 
been all inglorious, and the future may prove even better.” 

A roll and a glass of iced water furnished my breakfast, 
after which I set forth in good earnest on my search. There 
was a sort of self-flattery in the thought that one so destitute 
as I was could devote his thoughts and energies to the ser- 
vice of another that pleased me greatly. It was so “un- 
selfish,” — at least I thought so. Alas and alas ! how 
egotistical are we when we fancy ourselves least so ! That 


426 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


day I visited St. Roch and Notre Dame at early mass, and 
by noon reached the Louvre, the gallery of which occupied 
me till the hour of meeting the cure drew nigh. 

Punctual to his appointment, I found him waiting for me 
at the corner of the quay ; and although disappointed at the 
failure of all his efforts, he talked away with all the energy 
of one who would not suffer himself to be cast down by 
adverse fortune. “ I feel,” said he, “ a kind of instinctive 
conviction that we shall find her yet. There is something 
tells me that all our pains shall not go unrewarded. Have 
you never experienced a sensation of this kind, — a species 
of inward prompting to pursue a road, to penetrate into a 
pass, or to explore a way, without exactly knowing why or 
wherefore? ” 

This question, vague enough as it seemed, led me to talk 
about myself and my own position, — a theme which, how- 
ever much I might have shrunk from introducing, when once 
opened, I spoke of in all the freedom of old friendship. 

Nothing could be more delicate than the priest’s manner 
during all this time; nor even when his curiosity was 
highest did he permit himself to ask a question or an expla- 
nation of any difficulty that occurred ; and while he followed 
my recital with a degree of interest that was most flattering, 
he never ventured on a word or dropped a remark that might 
seem to urge me to greater frankness. 

“Do you know,” said he, at last, “why your story has 
taken such an uncommon hold upon my attention ? It is not 
from its adventurous character, nor from the stirring and 
strange scenes you have passed through. It is because your 
old pastor and guide, the Pere Delannois, was my own dear- 
est friend, my school companion and playfellow from in- 
fancy. We were both students at Louvain together, both 
called to the priesthood on the same day. Think, then, of 
my intense delight at hearing his dear name once more, — 
ay, and permit me to say it, hearing from the lips of another 
the very precepts and maxims that I can recognize as his 
own! Ah, yes! mon cher Maurice,” cried he, grasping my 
hand in a burst of enthusiasm, “ disguise it how you may, 
cover it up under the uniform of a ‘ Bleu,’ bury it beneath 
the shako of the soldier of the Republic, but the head and the 


THE “COUNT DE MAUREPAS,” ALIAS . 427 


heart will turn to the ancient altars of the Church and the 
Monarchy. It is not alone that your good blood suggests 
this, but all your experience of life goes to prove it. Think 
of poor Michel, self -devoted, generous, and noble-hearted ; 
think of that dear cottage at Kuffstein, where even in 
poverty the dignity of birth and blood threw a grace and 
an elegance over daily life; think of Ettenheim and the 
glorious prince — the last Conde — who now sleeps in his 
narrow bed in the fosse of Vincennes ! ” 

‘ ‘ How do you mean ? ” said I, eagerly ; for up to this time 
I knew nothing of his fate. 

“ Come along with me, and you shall know it all,” said he ; 
and, rising, he took my arm, and we sauntered along out of 
the crowded street till we reached the Boulevards. He then 
narrated to me every incident of the midnight trial, the 
sentence, and the execution. From the death-warrant that 
came down ready filled from Paris to the grave dug while the 
victim was yet sleeping, — he forgot nothing ; and I own that 
my very blood ran cold at the terrible atrocity of that dark 
murder. It was already growing dusk when he had finished, 
and we parted hurriedly, as he was obliged to be at a distant 
quarter of Paris by eight o’clock, again agreeing to meet, as 
before, on the Quai Voltaire. 

From that moment till we met the following day, the Due 
d’Enghien was never out of my thoughts ; and I was impa- 
tient for the priest’s presence, that I might tell him every 
little incident of our daily life at Ettenheim, the topics we 
used to discuss, and the opinions he expressed on various 
subjects. The eagerness of the cure to listen stimulated me 
to talk on, and I not only narrated all that 1 was myself 
a witness of, but various other circumstances which were told 
to me by the prince himself, — in particular, an incident he 
mentioned to me one day of being visited by a stranger, who 
came introduced by a letter from a very valued friend, his 
business being to propose to the due a scheme for the 
assassination of Bonaparte. At first the prince suspected 
the w T hole as a plot against himself ; but on further question- 
ing, he discovered that the man’s intentions were really such 
as he professed them, and offered his services in the convic- 
tion that no price could be deemed too high to reward him. 


428 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


It is needless to say that the offer was rejected with indigna- 
tion, and the prince dismissed the fellow with the threat of 
delivering him up to the government of the French Consul. 
The pastor heard this anecdote with deep attention, and for 
the first time diverging from his line of cautious reserve, he 
asked me various questions as to when the occurrence had 
taken place, and where ; if the prince had communicated 
the circumstance to any other than myself, and whether he 
had made it the subject of any correspondence. I knew 
little more than I had already told him ; that the offer was 
made while residing at Ettenheim, and during the preceding 
year, were facts, however, that I could remember. 

“ You are surprised, perhaps,” said he, “ at the interest I 
feel in all this ; but, strangely enough, there is here in Paris 
at this moment one of the great seigneurs of the Ardeche ; 
he has come up to the capital for medical advice, and he 
was a great, perhaps the greatest, friend of the poor due. 
What if you were to come and pay him a visit with me ; 
there is not probably one favor the whole world could 
bestow he would value so highly. You must often have 
heard his name from the prince ; has he not frequently 
spoken of the Count de Maurepas ? ” I could not remember 
having ever heard the name. “It is historical, however,” 
said the cwre, “ and even in our own days has not derogated 
from its ancient chivalry. Have you not heard how a noble 
of the Court rode postilion to the king’s carriage on the 
celebrated escape from Varennes? Well, even for curiosity 
sake he is worth a visit ; for this is the very Count Henri de 
Maurepas, now on the verge of the grave ! ” 

If the good cure had known me all my life, he could not 
more successfully have baited a trap for my curiosity. To 
see and know remarkable people, men who had done some- 
thing out of the ordinary route of every-day life, had been a 
passion with me from boyhood. Hero-worship was, indeed, 
a great feature in my character, and has more or less influ- 
enced all my career ; nor was I insensible to the pleasure of 
doing a kind action. It was rare, indeed, that one so hum- 
bly placed could ever confer a favor, and I grasped with 
eagerness the occasion to do so. We agreed, then, on the 
next afternoon, towards nightfall, to meet at the quay, and 


THE “COUNT DE MAUREPAS,” ALIAS 


429 


proceed together to the count’s residence. I have often 
reflected, since that day, that Lisette’s name was scarcely 
ever mentioned by either of us during this interview ; and 
yet at the time, so pre-occupied were my thoughts, I never 
noticed the omission. The Chateau of Ettenheim, and its 
tragic story, filled my mind to the exclusion of all else. 

I pass over the long and dreary hours that intervened, and 
come at once to the time, a little after sunset, when we met 
at our accustomed rendezvous. 

The cure had provided a fiacre for the occasion, as the 
count’s residence was about two leagues from the city, on 
the way to Belleville. As we trotted along, he gave me a 
most interesting account of the old noble, whose life had 
been one continued act of devotion to the monarchy. 

“It will be difficult,” said he, “for you to connect the 
poor, worn-out, shattered wreck before you with all that was 
daring in deed and chivalrous in sentiment ; but the Maure- 
pas were well upheld in all their glorious renown by him who 
is now to be the last of the race. You will see him reduced 
by suffering and sickness, scarcely able to speak; but be 
assured that you will have his gratitude for this act of true 
benevolence.” 

Thus chatting, we rattled along over the paved highway, 
and at length entered upon a deep clay road which conducted 
us to a spacious park, with a long, straight avenue of trees, 
at the end of which stood what, even in the uncertain light, 
appeared a spacious chateau. The door lay open, and, as we 
descended, a servant in plain clothes received us ; and, after 
a whispered word or two from the cure , ushered us along 
through a suite of rooms into a large chamber furnished like 
a study. There were book-shelves well filled, and a writing- 
table covered with papers and letters, and the whole floor was 
littered with newspapers and journals, 

A lamp, shaded by a deep gauze cover, threw a half-light 
over everything ; nor was it until we had been nearly a couple 
of minutes in the room that we became aware of the presence 
of the count, who lay upon a sofa, covered up in a fur 
pelisse, although the season was far advanced in spring. 

His gentle “ Good evening, messieurs,” was the first 
warning we had of his presence; and the cure, advancing 


430 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


respectfully, presented me as his young friend, Monsieur de 
Tiernay. 

“ It is not for the first time that I hear that name,” said 
the sick man, with a voice of singular sweetness. “It is 
chronicled in the annals of our monarchy. Ay, sir, I knew 
that faithful servant of his king who followed his master to 
the scaffold.” 

“My father,” cried I, eagerly. 

“I knew him well,” continued he; “I may say, without 
vaunting, that I had it in my power to befriend him, too. 
He made an imprudent marriage ; he was unfortunate in the 
society his second wife’s family threw him amongst. They 
were not his equals in birth, and far beneath him in senti- 
ment and principle. Well, well,” sighed he, “this is not a 
theme for me to speak of, nor for you to hear ; tell me of 
yourself. The cure, says that you have had more than your 
share of worldly vicissitudes. There, sit down, and let me 
hear your story from your own lips.” 

He pointed to a seat at his side, and I obeyed him at once ; 
for, somehow, there was an air of command even in the 
gentlest tones of his voice, and I felt that his age and his 
sufferings were not the only claims he possessed to influence 
those around him. 

With all the brevity in my power, my story lasted till 
above an hour, during which time the count only interrupted 
me once or twice by asking to which Colonel Mahon I 
referred, as there were two of the name ; and again by 
inquiring in what circumstances the emigre family were 
living as to means, and whether they appeared to derive any 
of their resources from France. These were points I could 
give no information upon ; and I plainly perceived that the 
count had no patience for a conjecture, and that, where 
positive knowledge failed, he instantly passed on to some- 
thing else. When I came to speak of Ettenheim his atten- 
tion became fixed, not suffering the minutest circumstance to 
escape him, and even asking for the exact description of the 
locality, and its distance from the towns in the neighborhood. 

The daily journeys of the prince, too, interested him 
much, and once or twice he made me repeat what the 
peasant had said of the horse being able to travel from 


THE “COUNT DE MAUREPAS,” ALIAS 


431 


Strasbourg without a halt. I vow it puzzled me why he 
should dwell on these points in preference to others of far 
more interest ; but I set them down to the caprices of illness, 
and thought no more of them. His daily life, his conversa- 
tion, the opinions he expressed about France, the questions 
he used to ask, were all matters he inquired into ; till, finally, 
we came to the anecdote of the meditated assassination of 
Bonaparte. This he made me tell him twice over, each time 
asking me eagerly whether, by an effort of memory, I could 
not recall the name of the man who had offered his services 
for the deed. This I could not ; indeed, I knew not if I had 
ever heard it. 

“But the prince rejected the proposal?” said he, peering 
at me beneath the dark shadow of his heavy brow; “he 
would not hear of it?” 

“Of course not,” cried I; “he even threatened to 
denounce the man to the Government.” 

“And do you think that he would have gone thus far, 
sir?” asked he, slowly. 

“Iam certain of it. The horror and disgust he expressed 
when reciting the story were a guarantee for what he would 
have done.” 

“But yet Bonaparte has been a dreadful enemy to his 
race,” said the count. 

“ It is not a Conde can right himself by a murder,” said 
I, as calmly. 

“How I like that burst of generous Royalism, young 
man ! ” said he, grasping my hand and shaking it warmly. 
“ That steadfast faith in the honor of a Bourbon is the very 
heart and soul of loyalty ! ” 

Now, although I was not, so far as I knew of, anything of 
a Royalist (the cause had neither my sympathy nor my 
wishes), I did not choose to disturb the equanimity of a poor 
sick man by a needless disclaimer, nor induce a discussion 
which must be both unprofitable and painful. 

“How did the fellow propose the act? Had he any 
accomplices, or was he alone?” 

“ I believe quite alone.” 

“ Of course suborned by England? Of that there can be 
no doubt.” 


432 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


44 The prince never said so.” 

44 Well, but it is clear enough the man must have had 
means ; he travelled by a very circuitous route ; he had come 
from Hamburg probably ? ” 

44 I never heard.” 

44 He must have done so. The ports of Holland, as those 
of France, would have been too dangerous for him. Italy is 
out of the question.” 

I owned that I had not speculated so deeply in the matter. 

44 It was strange,” said he, after a pause, 44 that the duke 
never mentioned who had introduced the man to him.” 

44 He merely called him a valued friend.” 

44 In other words, the Count d’ Artois,” said the count; 
44 did it not strike you so?” 

I had to confess it had not occurred to me to think so. 

44 But reflect a little,” said he. 44 Is there any other man 
living who could have dared to make such a proposal but the 
count? Who but the head of his house could have pre- 
sumed on such a step? No inferior could have had the 
audacity. It must have come from one so highly placed 
that crime paled itself down to a mere measure of expedi- 
ency under the loftiness of the sanction. What think you? ” 

44 1 cannot, I will not think so,” was my answer. 44 The very 
indignation of the prince’s rejection refutes the supposition.” 

44 What a glorious gift is unsuspectfulness,” said he, feel- 
ingly. 44 1 am a rich man, and you I believe are not so ; and 
yet I ’d give all my wealth — ay, ten times told — not for your 
vigor of health, not for the lightness of your heart nor the 
elasticity of your spirits, but for that one small quality, 
defect though it be, that makes you trustful and credulous.” 

I believe I would just as soon that the old gentleman had 
thought fit to compliment me upon any other quality. Of 
all my acquisitions there was not one I was so vain of as my 
knowledge of life and character. I had seen, as I thought, 
so much of life ! I had peeped at all ranks and conditions 
of men, and it was rather hard to find an old country gentle- 
man, a Seigneur de Village, calling me credulous and 
unsuspecting ! 

I was much more pleased when he told the cure that a 
supper was ready for us in the adjoining room, at which he 


THE “COUNT DE MAUREPAS,” ALIAS . 433 

begged we would excuse his absence; and truly a most 
admirable little meal it was, and served with great elegance. 

“The count expects you to stop here; there is a chamber 
prepared for you,” said the cure as we took our seats at 
table. “ He has evidently taken a fancy to you. I thought, 
indeed I was quite certain, he would. Who can tell what 
good fortune this chance meeting may lead to, Monsieur 
Maurice ! A votre sante , mon cher ! ” cried he, as he clinked 
his champagne glass against mine, and I at last began to 
think that destiny was about to smile on me. 

“You should see his chateau in the Ardeche; this is 
nothing to it ! There is a forest, too, of native oak, and a 
chasse such as royalty never owned ! ” 

Mine were delightful dreams that night ; but I was sorely 
disappointed on waking to find that Laura was not riding at 
my side through a forest-alley, while a crowd of piqueurs 
and huntsmen galloped to and fro, making the air vibrate 
with their joyous bugles. Still, I opened my eyes in a richly- 
furnished chamber, while a lacquais handed me my coffee on 
a silver stand and in a cup of costliest Sevres. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


A FOREST RIDE. 

While I was dressing, a note was handed to me from the 
cwre, apologizing for his departure without seeing me, and 
begging as a great favor that I would not leave the 
chateau till his return. He said that the count’s spirits had 
benefited greatly by our agreeable converse, and that he 
requested me to be his guest for some time to come. The 
postscript added a suggestion that I should write down some 
of the particulars of my visit to Ettenheim, but particularly 
of that conversation alluding to the meditated assassination of 
Bonaparte. 

There were many points in the arrangement which I did 
not like. To begin, I had no fancy whatever for the condi- 
tion of a dependant, and such my poverty would at once 
stamp me ; secondly, I was averse to this frequent inter- 
course with men of the Royalist party, whose restless 
character and unceasing schemes were opposed to all the 
principles of those I had served under ; and, finally, I was 
growing impatient under the listless vacuity of a life that 
gave no occupation nor opened any view for the future. I 
sat down to breakfast in a mood very little in unison with 
the material enjoyments around me. The meal was all that 
could tempt appetite; and the view from the open window 
displayed a beautiful flower-garden, imperceptibly fading 
away into a maze of ornamental planting, which was backed 
again by a deep forest, the well-known wood of Belleville. 
Still I ate on sullenly, scarce noticing any of the objects 
around me. “ I will see the count and take leave of him,” 
thought I, suddenly ; “I cannot be his guest without sacri- 
ficing feeling in a dozen ways.” 

“At what hour does Monsieur rise?” asked I of the 
obsequious valet who waited behind my chair. 


A FOREST RIDE. 


435 


“ Usually at three or four in the afternoon, sir; but to-day 
he has desired me to make his excuses to you. There will 
be a consultation of doctors here ; and the likelihood is that 
he may not leave his chamber.” 

“Will you convey my respectful compliments, then, to 
him, and my regrets that I had not seen him before leaving 
the chateau ? ” 

u The count charged me, sir, to entreat your remaining 
here till he had seen you. He said you had done him infinite 
service already, and indeed it is long since he has passed a 
night in such tranquillity.” 

There are few slight circumstances which impress a 
stranger more favorably than any semblance of devotion 
on the part of a servant to his master. The friendship of 
those above one in life is easier to acquire than the attach- 
ment of those beneath. Love is a plant whose tendrils 
strive ever upwards. I could not help feeling struck at the 
man’s manner as he spoke these few words ; and insensibly my 
mind reverted to the master who had inspired such sentiments. 

“My master gave orders, sir,” continued he, “that we 
should do everything possible to contribute to your wishes ; 
that the carriage, or, if you prefer them, saddle-horses, should 
be ready at any hour you ordered. The wood has a variety 
of beautiful excursions ; there is a lake, too, about two 
leagues away, and the ruins of Monterraye are also worth 
seeing.” 

“ If I had not engagements in Paris,” muttered I, while I 
affected to mumble over the conclusion of the sentence to 
myself. 

4 4 Monsieur has seldom done a greater kindness than this 
will be,” added he, respectfully; “but if Monsieur’s 
business could be deferred for a day or two, without 
inconvenience — ” 

“Perhaps that might be managed,” said I, starting up, 
and walking to the window, when, for the first time, the 
glorious prospect revealed itself before me. How delicious, 
after all, would be a few hours of such a retreat! a 
morning loitered away in that beautiful garden, and then 
a long ramble through the dark wood , till sunset ! Oh if 
Laura were but here ! if she could be my companion along 


436 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


those leafy alleys ! If not with, I can at least think of 
her, thought I ; seek out spots she would love to linger in, 
and points of view she would enjoy with all a painter’s 
zest. And this poor count, with all his riches, could not 
derive in a whole lifetime the enjoyment that a few brief 
hours would yield to us ! So is it almost ever in this 
world, — to one man the appliances, to another the faculties, 
for enjoyment. 

“I am so glad Monsieur has consented,” said the valet, 
joyously. 

“ Did I say so? I don’t know that I said anything.” 

“The count will be so gratified,” added he; and hurried 
away to convey the tidings. 

Well, be it so. Heaven knows my business in Paris will 
scarcely suffer by my absence, my chief occupation there 
being to cheat away the hours till meal-time ; it is an occu- 
pation I can easily resume a few days hence. I took a book, 
and strolled out into the garden; but I could not read. 
There is a gush of pleasure felt at times from the most 
familiar objects which the most complicated machinery of 
enjoyment often fails to equal ; and now the odor of moss- 
roses and geraniums, the rich perfume of orange-flowers, the 
plash of fountains, and the hum of the summer insects 
steeped my mind in delight, and I lay there in a dream of 
bliss that was like enchantment. I suppose I must have 
fallen asleep, for my thoughts took every form of wildness 
and incoherency. Ireland, the campaign, the bay of Genoa, 
the rugged height of Kuff stein, all passed before my mind 
peopled with images foreign to all their incidents. It was 
late in the afternoon that I aroused myself, and remem- 
bered where I was ; the shadows of the dark forest were 
stretching over the plain, and I determined on a ride beneath 
their mellow shade. As if in anticipation of my wishes, the 
horses were already saddled, and a groom stood awaiting my 
orders. “Oh what a glorious thing it is to be rich!” 
thought I, as I mounted ; ‘ 4 from what an eminence does 
the wealthy man view life ! No petty cares nor calculations 
mar the conceptions of his fancy. His will, like his imagi- 
nation, wanders free and unfettered.” And so thinking, I 
dashed spurs into my horse and plunged into the dense 
wood. 


A FOREST RIDE. 


437 


Perhaps I was better mounted than the groom, or perhaps 
the man was scarcely accustomed to such impetuosity. 
Whatever the reason, I was soon out of sight of him. 
The trackless grass of the alley and its noiseless turf made 
pursuit difficult in a spot where the paths crossed and re- 
crossed in a hundred different directions ; and so I rode on 
for miles and miles without seeing more of my follower. 

Forest riding is particularly seductive ; you are insensibly 
led on to see where this alley will open, or how that path 
will terminate. Some of the spirit of discovery seems to seal 
its attractions to the wild and devious track, untrodden as it 
looks ; and you feel all the charm of adventure as you 
advance. The silence, too, is most striking; the noiseless 
footfall of the horse and the unbroken stillness add inde- 
scribable charm to the scene, and the least imaginative 
cannot fail to weave fancies and fictions as he goes. 

Near as it was to a great city, not a single rider crossed 
my path ; not even a peasant did I meet. A stray bundle of 
fagots, bound and ready to be carried away, showed that 
the axe of the woodman had been heard within the solitude ; 
but not another trace told that human footstep had ever 
pressed the sward. 

Although still a couple of hours from sunset, the shade of 
the wood was dense enough to make the path appear uncer- 
tain, and I was obliged to ride more cautiously than before. 
I had thought that by steadily pursuing one straight track I 
should at last gain the open country, and easily find some 
road that would reconduct me to the cMteau ; but now I saw 
no signs of this. The alley was, to all appearance, exactly 
as I found it, — miles before. A long aisle of beech-trees 
stretched away in front and behind me; a short, grassy 
turf was beneath my feet, — and not an object to tell me how 
far I had come, or whither I was tending. If now and then 
another road crossed the path, it was in all respects like this 
one. This was puzzling; and to add to my difficulty, I 
suddenly remembered that I had never thought of learning 
the name of the chateau, and well knew that to ask for it 
as the residence of the Count de Maurepas would be a per- 
fect absurdity. There was something so ludicrous in the 
situation that I could not refrain from laughing at first; 


438 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


but a moment’s reconsideration made me regard the incident 
more gravely. In what a position should I stand, if unable 
to discover the chateau ! The cure might have left Paris 
before I could reach it ; all clew to the count might thus be 
lost ; and although these were but improbable circumstances, 
they came now very forcibly before me, and gave me serious 
uneasiness. 

“ I have been so often in false positions in life, so fre- 
quently implicated where no real blame could attach to me, 
that I shall not be in the least surprised if I be arrested as 
a horse-stealer ! ” 

The night now began to fall rapidly, so that I was obliged 
to proceed at a slow pace ; and at length, as the wood 
seemed to thicken, I was forced to get off, and walk beside 
my horse. I have often found myself in situations of real 
peril, with far less anxiety than I now felt; my position 
seemed at the time inexplicable and absurd. “ I suppose,” 
thought I, ‘ ‘ that no man was ever lost in the wood of 
Belleville ; he must find his way out of it sooner or later ; 
and then there can be no great difficulty in returning to 
Paris.” This was about the extent of the comfort I could 
afford myself; for, once back in the capital, I could not 
speculate on a single step further. 

I was at last so weary with the slow and cautious pro- 
gress I was condemned to that I half determined to picket 
my horse to a tree and lie down to sleep till daylight. While 
I sought out a convenient spot for my bivouac, a bright 
twinkling light, like a small star, caught my eye. Twice it 
appeared and vanished again, so that I was well assured of 
its being real, and no phantom of my now over-excited brain. 
It appeared to proceed from the very densest part of the 
wood, and whither, so far as I could see, no path conducted. 
As I listened to catch any sounds I again caught sight of the 
faint star, which now seemed at a short distance from the 
road where I stood. Fastening my horse to a branch, I 
advanced directly through the brushwood for about a hun- 
dred yards, when I came to a small open space, in which 
stood one of those modest cottages, of rough timber, wherein 
at certain seasons the gamekeepers take refuge. A low, 
square, log hut, with a single door and an unglazed window, 


A FOREST RIDE. 


489 


comprised the whole edifice, being one of the humblest even 
of its humble kind I had ever seen. Stealing cautiously to 
the window, I peeped in. On a stone, in the middle of the 
earthen floor, a small iron lamp stood, which threw a faint 
and fickle light around. There was no furniture of any kind, 
nothing that bespoke the place as inhabited ; and it was only 
as I continued to gaze that I detected the figure of a man, 
who seemed to be sleeping on a heap of dried leaves in one 
corner of the hovel. I own that, with all my anxiety to find 
a guide, I began to feel some scruples about obtruding on 
the sleeper’s privacy. He was evidently no garde de chasse , 
who are a well-to-do sort of folk, being usually retired sous - 
officiers of the army. He might be a poacher, a robber, or 
perhaps a dash of both together, — a trade I had often heard 
of as being resorted to by the most reckless and abandoned 
of the population of Paris, when their crimes and their 
haunts became too well known in the capital. 

I peered eagerly through the chamber to see if he were 
armed ; but not a weapon of any kind was to be seen. I 
next sought to discover if he were quite alone ; and although 
one side of the hovel was hidden from my view, I was well 
assured that he had no comrade. “ Come,” said I to myself, 
“ man to man, if it should come to a struggle, is fair enough ; 
and the chances are, I shall be able to defend myself.” 

His sleep was sound and heavy, like that after fatigue ; 
so that I thought it would be easy for me to enter the hovel 
and secure his arms, if he had such, before he should awake. 
I may seem to my reader, all this time, to have been inspired 
with an undue amount of caution and prudence, considering 
how evenly we were matched ; but I would remind him that 
it was a period when the most dreadful crimes were of daily 
occurrence. Not a night went over without some terrible 
assassination ; and a number of escaped galley-slaves were 
known to be at large in the suburbs and outskirts of the 
capital. These men, under the slightest provocation, never 
hesitated at murder ; for their lives were already forfeited, 
and they scrupled at nothing which offered a chance of 
escape. To add to the terror their atrocities excited, there 
was a rumor current at the time that the Government itself 
made use of these wretches for its own secret acts of ven- 


440 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


geance ; and many implicitly believed that the dark assassi- 
nations of the Temple had no other agency. I do not mean 
to say that these fears were well founded, or that I myself 
partook of them ; but such were the reports commonly cir- 
culated, and the impunity of crime certainly favored the 
impression. 

I know not if this will serve as an apology for the circum- 
spection of my proceeding, as cautiously pushing the door, 
inch by inch, I at length threw it wide open. Not the 
slightest sound escaped as I did so ; and yet, certainly before 
my hand quitted the latch, the sleeper had sprung to his 
knees, and with his dark eyes glaring wildly at me crouched 
like a beast about to rush upon an enemy. His attitude and 
his whole appearance at that moment are yet before me. 
Long black hair fell in heavy masses at either side of his 
head ; his face was pale, haggard, and hunger-stricken ; a 
deep, drooping mustache descended from below his chin, 
and almost touched his collar-bones, which were starting 
from beneath the skin ; a ragged cloak, that covered him as 
he lay, had fallen off, and showed that a worn shirt and a 
pair of coarse linen trousers were all his clothing. Such a 
picture of privation and misery I never looked upon before 
nor since. 

“ Qui va la? ” cried he, sternly, and with the voice of one 
not unused to command ; and although the summons showed 
his soldier training, his condition of wretchedness suggested 
deep misgivings. 

4 4 Qui va la?” shouted he, again, louder and more deter- 
minedly. 

“A friend — perhaps a comrade,” said I, boldly. 

“ Advance, comrade, and give the countersign,” replied 
he, rapidly, and like one repeating a phrase of routine ; and 
then, as if suddenly remembering himself, he added, with a 
low sigh, “There is none! ” His arms dropped heavily as 
he spoke, and he fell back against the wall, with his head 
drooping on his chest. 

There was something so unutterably forlorn in his look, 
as he sat thus, that all apprehension of personal danger 
from him left me at the moment, and advancing frankly I 
told him how I had lost my way in the wood, and by a mere 


A FOREST RIDE. 


441 


accident chanced to descry his light as I wandered along in 
the gloom. 

I do not know if he understood me at first, for he gazed 
half vacantly at my ‘face while I was speaking, and often 
stealthily peered around to see if others were coming ; so 
that I had to repeat more than once that I was perfectly 
alone. That the poor fellow was insane seemed but too 
probable ; the restless activity of his wild eye, the suspicious 
watchfulness of his glances, all looked like madness ; and I 
thought that he had probably made his escape from some 
military hospital, and concealed himself within the recesses 
of the forest. But even these signs of overwrought excite- 
ment began to subside soon ; and, as though the momentary 
effort at vigilance had been too much for his strength, he 
now drew his cloak about him, and lay down once more. 

I handed him my brandy-flask, which still contained a 
little, and he raised it to his lips with a slight nod of recog- 
nition. Invigorated by the stimulant, he sipped again and 
again, but always cautiously, and with prudent reserve. 

“ You have been a soldier?” said I, taking my seat at his 
side. 

“ I am a soldier,” said he, with a strong emphasis on the 
verb. 

“ I too have served,” said I ; “ although, probably, neither 
as long nor as creditably as you have.” 

He looked at me fixedly for a second or two, and then 
dropped his eyes without a reply. 

“ You were probably with the Army of the Meuse? ” said 
I, hazarding the guess, from remembering how many of that 
army had been invalided by the terrible attacks of ague con- 
tracted in North Holland. 

“I served on the Rhine,” said he, briefly; “but I made 
the campaign of Jemappes, too. I served the king also, — 
King Louis,” cried he, sternly. “Is that avowal candid 
enough, or do you want more?” 

Another Royalist, thought I, with a sigh. Whichever way 
I turn they meet me ; the very ground seems to give them 
up. 

“And could you find no better trade than that of a 
mouchard? ” asked he, sneeringly. 


442 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


44 I am not a mouchard ; I never was one. I am a soldier 
like yourself, and mayhap, if all were to be told, scarcely a 
more fortunate one.” 

“Dismissed the service — and for what?” asked he, 
bluntly. 

44 If not broke, at least not employed,” said I, bitterly. 

“ A Royalist? ” 

44 Not the least of one, but suspected.” 

“Just so. Your letters, your private papers, ransacked 
and brought in evidence against you. Your conversations 
with your intimates noted down and attested; every word 
you dropped in a moment of disappointment or anger, 
every chance phrase you uttered when provoked, all quoted ; 
was n’t that it? ” 

As he spoke this, with a rapid and almost impetuous 
utterance, I for the first time noticed that both the ex- 
pressions and the accent implied breeding and education. 
Not all his vehemence could hide the evidences of former 
cultivation. 

“ How comes it,” asked I, eagerly, “ that such a man as 
you are is to be found thus? You certainly did not always 
serve in the ranks ? ” 

“ I had my grade,” was his short, dry reply. 

“ You were a quarter-master, perhaps a sous-lieutenant ? ” 
said I, hoping by the flattery of the surmise to lead him to 
talk further. 

“ I was the colonel of a dragoon regiment,” said he, 
sternly ; 4 4 and that neither the least brave nor the least dis- 
tinguished in the French army.” 

Ah, thought I, my good fellow, you have shot your bolt 
too high this time ; and in a careless, easy way I asked, 
4 4 What might have been the number of your corps ? ” 

44 How can it concern you? ” said he, with a savage vehe- 
mence. 44 You say that you are not a spy. To what end 
these questions? As it is, you have made this hovel, which 
has been my shelter for some weeks back, no longer of any 
service to me. I will not be tracked. I will not suffer espi- 
onage, by Heaven ! ” cried he, as he dashed his clenched fist 
against the ground beside him. His eyes, as he spoke, 
glared with all the wildness of insanity, and great drops of 
sweat hung upon his damp forehead. 


A FOREST RIDE. 


443 


“ Is it too much,” continued he, with all the vehemence of 
passion, — “is it too much that I was master here? Are 
these walls too luxurious ? Is there the sign of foreign gold 
in this tasteful furniture and the splendor of these hangings? 
Or is this,” and he stretched out his lean and naked arms 
as he spoke, — “is this the garb, is this the garb of a man 
who can draw at will on the coffers of royalty? Ay,” cried 
he, with a wild laugh, “ if this is the price of my treachery, 
the treason might well be pardoned.” 

I did all I could to assuage the violence of his manner. 
I talked to him calmly and soberly of myself and of him, 
repeating over and over the assurance that I had neither the 
will nor the way to injure him. “ You may be poor,” said I, 
“ and yet scarcely poorer than I am, — friendless, and have 
as many to care for you as I have. Believe me, comrade, 
save in the matter of a few years the less on one side, and 
some services the more on the other, there is little to choose 
between us.” 

These few words, wrung from me in sorrowful sincerity, 
seemed to do more than all I had said previously, and he 
moved the lamp a little to one side that he might have a 
better view of me as I sat ; and thus we remained for several 
minutes staring steadfastly at each other, without a word 
spoken on either side. It was in vain that I sought in that 
face livid and shrunk by famine, in that straggling matted 
hair, and that figure enveloped in rags for any traces of 
former condition. Whatever might once have been his place 
in society, now he seemed the very lowest of that miserable 
tribe whose lives are at once the miracle and shame of our 
century. 

“ Except that my senses are always playing me false,” 
said he, as he passed his hand across his eyes, “ I could say 
that I have seen your face before. What was your corps ? ” 

“The Ninth Hussars, — ‘the Tapageurs,’ as they called 
them ” 

“ When did you join, and where? ” said he, with an eager- 
ness that surprised me. 

“ At Nancy,” said I, calmly. 

“You were there with the advanced guard of Moreau’s 
corps,” said he, hastily; “you followed the regiment to the 
Moselle ? ” 


444 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ How do you know all this? ” asked I, in amazement. 

“Now for your name, — tell me your name,” cried he, 
grasping my hand in both of his. “And I charge you by 
all you care for here or hereafter, no deception with me ! 
It is not a head that has been tried like mine can bear a 
cheat.” 

“ I have no object in deceiving you; nor am I ashamed 
to say who I am,” replied I. “My name is Tiernay, — 
Maurice Tiernay.” 

The word was but out when the poor fellow threw him- 
self forward, and grasping my hands fell upon and kissed 
them. 

“ So, then,” cried he, passionately, “ I am not friendless ; 
I am not utterly deserted in life, — you are yet left to me, 
my dear boy ! ” 

This burst of feeling convinced me that he was deranged ; 
and I was speculating in my mind how best to make my 
escape from him, when he pushed back the long and tangled 
hair from his face, and staring wildly at me, said, — 

“ You know me now, don’t you? Oh, look again, Maurice, 
and do not let me think that I am forgotten by all the 
world ! ” 

“ Good heavens ! ” cried I, “it is Colonel Mahon ! ” 

“Ay, ‘ Le Beau Mahon,’” said he, with a burst of wild 
laughter, — “ Le Beau Mahon, as they used to call me long 
ago. Is this a reverse of fortune, I ask you?” and he held 
out the ragged remnants of his miserable clothes. “ I have 
not worn shoes for nigh a month. I have tasted food but 
once in the last thirty hours. I, that have led French sol- 
diers to the charge full fifty times, up to the very batteries 
of the enemy, am reduced to hide and skulk from place to 
place like a felon, trembling at the clank of a gendarme’s 
boot as never the thunder of an enemy’s squadron made me. 
Think of the persecution that has brought me to this, and 
made me a beggar and a coward together ! ” 

A gush of tears burst from him at these words, and he 
sobbed for several minutes like a child. 

Whatever might have been the original source of his mis- 
fortunes, I had very little doubt that now his mind had been 
shaken by their influence, and that calamity had deranged 


A FOREST RIDE. 


445 


him. The flighty uncertainty of his manner, the incoherent 
rapidity with which he passed from one topic to another, 
increased with his excitement, and he passed alternately from 
the wildest expressions of delight at our meeting to the most 
heart-rending descriptions of his own sufferings. By great 
patience and some ingenuity, I learned that he had taken 
refuge in the wood of Belleville, where the kindness of an 
did soldier of his own brigade — now a garde de chasse — 
had saved him from starvation. Jacques Caillon was con- 
tinually alluded to in his narrative. It was Jacques sheltered 
him when he came first to Belleville. Jacques had afforded 
him a refuge in the different huts of the forest, supplying 
him with food, — acts not alone of benevolence, but of 
daring courage, as Mahon continually asserted. “If it were 
but known, they’d give him a peloton and eight paces.” 
The theme of Jacques’ heroism was so engrossing that he 
could not turn from it ; every little incident of his kindness, 
every stratagem of his inventive good nature, he dwelt upon 
with eager delight, and seemed half to forget his own sor- 
rows in recounting the services of his benefactor. I saw 
that it would be fruitless to ask for any account of his past 
calamity, or by what series of mischances he had fallen so 
low. I saw — I will own with some chagrin — that with 
the mere selfishness of misfortune, he could not speak of 
anything save what bore upon his own daily life, and totally 
forgot me and all about me. 

The most relentless persecution seemed to follow him from 
place to place. Wherever he went, fresh spies started on his 
track, and the history of his escapes was unending. The 
very fagot-cutters of the forest were in league against him, 
and the high price offered for his capture had drawn many 
into the pursuit. It was curious to mark the degree of self- 
importance all these recitals imparted, and how the poor 
fellow, starving and almost naked as he was, rose into all the 
imagined dignity of martyrdom as he told of his sorrows. 
If he ever asked a question about Paris, it was to know what 
people said of himself and of his fortunes. He was thoroughly 
convinced that Bonaparte’s thoughts were far more occupied 
about him than on that empire now so nearly in his grasp ; 
and he continued to repeat with a proud delight, “He has 


446 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


caught them all but me ! I am the only one who has escaped 
him ! ” These few words suggested to me the impression that 
Mahon had been engaged in some plot or conspiracy ; but of 
what nature, how composed, or how discovered, it was im- 
possible to arrive at. 

“ There ! ” said he, at last, “ there is the dawn breaking ! 
I must be off. I must now make for the thickest part of the 
wood till nightfall. There are hiding-places there known 
to none save myself. The bloodhounds cannot track me 
where I go.” 

His impatience became now extreme ; every instant seemed 
full of peril to him now, every rustling leaf and every wav- 
ing branch a warning. I was unable to satisfy myself how 
far this might be well-founded terror, or a vague and cause- 
less fear. At one moment I inclined to this, at another to 
the opposite, impression. Assuredly nothing could be more 
complete than the precautions he took against discovery. 
His lamp was concealed in the hollow of a tree ; the leaves 
that formed his bed he scattered and strewed carelessly on 
every side ; he erased even the foot tracks on the clay ; and 
then gathering up his tattered cloak, prepared to set out. 

“ When are we to meet again, and where?” said I, grasp- 
ing his hand. 

He stopped suddenly, and passed his hand over his brow, 
as if reflecting. “You must see Caillon ; Jacques will tell 
you all,” said he, solemnly. “ Good-by. Do not follow me; 
I will not be tracked ; ” and with a proud gesture of his hand 
he motioned me back. 

Poor fellow ! I saw that any attempt to reason with him 
would be in vain at such a moment ; and determining to 
seek out the garde de chasse, I turned away slowly and 
sorrowfully. 

“ What have been my vicissitudes of fortune compared to 
his? ” thought I. “ The proud colonel of a cavalry regiment, 
a beggar and an outcast ! ” The great puzzle to me was 
whether insanity had been the cause or the consequence of 
his misfortunes. Caillon will, perhaps, be able to tell his 
story, said I to myself ; and thus ruminating, I returned 
to where I had picketed my horse three hours before. 
My old dragoon experiences had taught me how to ‘ ‘ hobble ” 


A FOREST RIDE. 


447 


a horse, as it is called, by passing the bridle beneath the 
counter before tying it, and so I found him just as I had 
left him. 

The sun was now up, and I could see that a wide track led 
off through the forest straight before me. I accordingly 
mounted, and struck into a sharp canter. About an hour’s 
riding brought me to a small clearing, in the midst of which 
stood a neat and picturesque cottage, over the door of which 
was painted the words “ Station de Chasse — No. 4.” In a 
little garden in front a man was working in his shirt sleeves, 
but his military trousers at once proclaimed him the garde. 
He stopped as I came up, and eyed me sharply. 

“ Is this the road to Belleville? ” said I. 

“You can go this way; but it takes you two miles of a 
round,” replied he, coming closer, and scanning me keenly. 

“ You can tell me, perhaps, where Jacques Caillon, garde 
de chasse, is to be found? ” 

“I am Jacques Caillon, sir,” was the answer, as he 
saluted in soldier fashion, while a look of anxiety stole over 
his face. 

“I have something to speak to you about,” said I, dis- 
mounting, and giving him the bridle of my horse. “ Throw 
him some corn, if you have got it, and then let us talk 
together ; ” and with this I walked into the garden, and 
seated myself on a bench. 

If Jacques be an old soldier, thought I, the only way is to 
come the officer over him ; discipline and obedience are never 
forgotten, and whatever chances I may have of his confidence 
will depend on how much I seem his superior. It appeared 
as if this conjecture was well founded ; for as Jacques came 
back, his manner betrayed every sign of respect and defer- 
ence. There was an expression of almost fear in his face as, 
with his hand to his cap, he asked what were my orders. 

The very deference of his air was disconcerting, and so, 
assuming a look of easy cordiality, I said, - — 

“ First, I will ask you to give me something to eat; and, 
secondly, to give me your company for half-an-hour.” 

Jacques promised both, and learning that I preferred my 
breakfast in the open air, proceeded to arrange the table 
under a blossoming chestnut-tree. 


448 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“Are you quite alone here?” asked I, as he passed back 
and forward. 

“Quite alone, sir; and, except a stray fagot-cutter ora 
chance traveller who may have lost his way, I never see a 
human face from year’s end to year’s end. It ’s a lonely 
thing for an old soldier, too,” said he with a sigh. 

“I know more than one who would envy you, Jacques,” 
said I; and the words made him almost start as I spoke 
them. The coffee was now ready, and I proceeded to make 
my breakfast with all the appetite of a long fast. 

There was indeed but little to inspire awe or even defer- 
ence in my personal appearance ; a threadbare undress frock 
and a worn-out old foraging cap were all the marks of my 
soldierlike estate, — and yet from Jacques’s manner one 
might have guessed me to be a general at the least. He 
attended me with the stiff propriety of the parade; and 
when at last induced to take a seat, he did so full two yards 
off from the table, and arose almost every time he was spoken 
to. Now, it was quite clear that the honest soldier did not 
know me either as the hero of Kehl, of Ireland, or of Genoa. 
Great achievements as they were, they were wonderfully 
little noised about the world, and a man might frequent 
mixed companies every day of the week and never hear of 
one of them. So far, then, was certain, — it could not be 
my fame had imposed on him ; and, as I have already hinted, 
it could scarcely be my general appearance. Who knows, 
thought I, but I owe all this obsequious deference to my 
horse? If Jacques be an old cavalry-man, he will have re- 
marked that the beast is of great value, and doubtless argue 
to the worth of the rider from the merits of his “mount.” 
If this explanation was not the most flattering, it was at all 
events the best I could hit on ; and with a natural reference 
to what was passing in my own mind, I asked him if he had 
looked to my horse. 

“Oh, yes, sir,” said he, reddening suddenly; “I have 
taken off the saddle, and thrown him his corn.” 

What the deuce does his confusion mean, thought I ; the 
fellow looks as if he had half a mind to run away, merely 
because I asked him a simple question. 

“ I ’ve had a sharp ride,” said I, rather by way of saying 


A FOREST RIDE. 


449 


something, 4 4 and I should n’t wonder if he was a little 
fatigued.” 

44 Scarcely so, sir,” said he, with a faint smile ; 44 he ’s old, 
now, but it’s not a little will tire him.” 

44 You know him, then? ” said I, quickly. 

44 Ay, sir, and have known him for eighteen years. He 
was in the second squadron of our regiment ; the major rode 
him two entire campaigns.” 

The reader may guess that his history was interesting to 
me from perceiving the impression the reminiscence made on 
the relator, and I inquired what became of him after that. 

44 He was wounded by a shot at Neuwied, and sold into 
the train, where they could n’t manage him ; and after three 
years, when horses grew scarce, he came back into the cavalry. 
A sergeant-major of lancers was killed on him at Zweibrticken. 
That was the fourth rider he brought mishap to, not to say 
a farrier whom he dashed to pieces in his stable.” 

Ah, Jack, thought I, I have it; it is a piece of old-soldier 
superstition about this mischievous horse has inspired all the 
man’s respect and reverence ; and if a little disappointed in the 
mystery, I was so far pleased at having discovered the clew. 

44 But I have found him quiet enough,” said I ; 44 1 never 
backed him till yesterday, and he has carried me well and 
peaceably.” 

44 Ah, that he will now, I warrant him; since the day a 
shell burst under him at Waitzen he never showed any vice. 
The wound nearly left the ribs bare, and he was for months 
and months invalided ; after that he was sold out of the 
cavalry, I don’t know where or to whom. The next I saw of 
him was in his present service.” 

44 Then you are acquainted with the present owner? ” asked 
I, eagerly. 

44 As every Frenchman is ! ” was the curt rejoinder. 

44 Parbleu ! it will seem a droll confession, then, when I 
tell you that I myself do not even know his name.” 

The look of contempt these words brought to my com- 
panion’s face could not, it seemed, be either repressed or 
concealed; and although my conscience acquitted me of 
deserving such a glance, I own that I felt insulted by it. 

44 You are pleased to disbelieve me, Master Caillon,” said 
29 


450 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


I, sternly, “ which makes me suppose that you are neither so 
old nor so good a soldier as I fancied ; at least in the corps 
I had the honor to serve with, the word of an officer was 
respected like an ‘ order of the day.’ ” 

He stood erect, as if on parade, under this rebuke, but 
made no answer. 

“Had you simply expressed surprise at what I said, I 
would have given you the explanation frankly and freely ; as 
it is, I shall content myself with repeating what I said, — I 
do not even know his name.” 

The same imperturbable look and the same silence met me 
as before. 

“ Now, sir, I ask you how this gentleman is called, whom 
I, alone of all France, am ignorant of?” 

“Monsieur Fouche,” said he, calmly. 

“ What ! Fouche, the Minister of Police? ” 

This time, at least, my agitated looks seemed to move him, 
for he replied, quietly, — 

“ The same, sir. The horse has the brand of the ‘ minis- 
t&re’ on his haunch.” 

‘ ‘ And where is the minist&re ? ” cried I, eagerly. 

“ In the Rue des Yictoires, Monsieur.” 

“But he lives in the country, in a chateau near this very 
forest.” 

“Where does he not live, Monsieur? At Versailles, at 
St. Germain, in the Luxembourg, in the Marais, at Neuilly, 
the Battignolles. I have carried despatches to him in every 
quarter of Paris. Ah, Monsieur, what secret are you in 
possession of, that it was worth while to lay so subtle a trap 
to catch you?” 

This question, put in all the frank abruptness of a sudden 
thought, immediately revealed everything before me. 

“ Is it not as I have said?” resumed he, still looking at 
my agitated face, — “is it not as I have said, — Monsieur is 
in the web of the mouchards ? ” 

“ Good heavens ! is such baseness possible? ” was all that 
I could utter. 

“ I ’ll wager a piece of five francs I can read the mystery,” 
said Jacques. “You served on Moreau’s staff, or with 
Pichegru in Holland ; you either have some of the general’s 


A FOREST RIDE. 


451 


letters, or you can be supposed to have them at all events ; 
you remember many private conversations held with him on 
politics ; you can charge your memory with a number of 
strong facts ; and you can, if needed, draw up a memoir of 
all your intercourse. I know the system well, for I was a 
mouchard myself.” 

“You a police spy, Jacques?” 

“ Ay, sir ; I was appointed without knowing what services 
were expected from me, or the duties of my station. Two 
months’ trial, however, showed that I was 4 incapable,’ and 
proved that a smart sous-officier is not necessarily a scoun- 
drel. They dismissed me as impracticable, and made me 
garde de chasse ; and they were right, too. Whether I was 
dressed up in a snuff-brown suit, like a bourgeois of the Rue 
St. Denis ; whether they attired me as a farmer from the 
provinces, a retired maitr e-de-post, an old officer, or the con- 
ducteur of a diligence, — I was always Jacques Caillon. 
Through everything, wigs and beards, lace or rags, jackboots 
or sabots, it was all alike; and while others could pass 
weeks in the Pays Latin as students, country doctors, or 
notaires de village , I was certain to be detected by every brat 
that walked the streets.” 

4 4 What a system ! And so these fellows assume every 
disguise ? ” asked I, my mind full of my late rencontre. 

44 That they do, Monsieur. There is one fellow, a Pro- 
vencal by birth, has played more characters than ever did 
Brunet himself. I have known him as a lacquais de place, a 
cook to an English nobleman, a letter-carrier, a flower-girl, a 
cornet-a-piston in the opera, and a cure from the Ardeche.” 

44 A cure from the Ardeche ! ” exclaimed I. 44 Then I am 
a ruined man.” 

“What! has Monsieur fallen in with Paul?” cried he, 
laughing. 4 4 Was he begging for a small contribution to repair 
the roof of his little chapel, or was it a fire that had devas- 
tated his poor village ? Did the altar want a new covering, 
or the cure a vestment? Was it a canopy for the Fete of the 
Virgin, or a few sous towards the Orphelines de St. Jude? ” 

“None of these,” said I, half angrily, for the theme was 
no jesting one to me. 44 It was a poor girl that had been 
carried away.” 


452 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ Lisette, the miller’s daughter, or the schoolmaster’s 
niece?” broke he in, laughing. “ He must have known you 
were new to Paris, Monsieur, that he took so little trouble 
about a deception. And you met him at the Chare tte 
rouge in the Marais?” 

“ No; at a little ordinary in the Quai Voltaire.” 

“Better again. Why, half the company there are 
mouchards. It is one of their rally ing-points, where they 
exchange tokens and information. The laborers, the beg- 
gars, the fishermen of the Seine, the hawkers of old books, 
the vendors of gilt ornaments, are all spies ; the most miser- 
able creature that implored charity behind your chair as you 
sat at dinner has, perhaps, his ten francs a day on the roll of 
the Prefecture ! Ah, Monsieur ! if I had not been a poor 
pupil of that school, I ’d have at once seen that you were a 
victim and not a follower ; but I soon detected my error, — 
my education taught me at least so much ! ” 

I had no relish for the self-gratulation of honest Jacques, 
uttered, as it was, at my own expense. Indeed, I had no 
thought for anything but the entanglement into which I had 
so stupidly involved myself ; and I could not endure the 
recollection of my foolish credulity, now that all the paltry 
machinery of the deceit was brought before me. All my 
regard, dashed as it was with pity for the poor cure ; all my 
compassionate interest for the dear Lisette ; all my benevo- 
lent solicitude for the sick count, who was neither more nor 
less than M. Fouche himself, — were anything but pleasant 
reminiscences now, and I cursed my own stupidity with an 
honest sincerity that greatly amused my companion. 

“And is France come to this?” cried I, passionately, 
and trying to console myself by inveighing against the 
Government. 

“Even so, sir,” said Jacques. “I heard Monsieur de 
Talleyrand say as much the other day, as I waited behind his 
chair. ‘ It is only dans les bonnes maisons ,’ said he, 4 that 
servants ever listen at the doors ; ’ depend upon it, then, that 
a secret police is a strong symptom that we are returning to 
a monarchy.” 

It was plain that even in his short career in the police ser- 
vice Caillon had acquired certain shrewd habits of thought 


A FOREST RIDE. 


453 


and some power of judgment ; and so I freely communicated 
to him the whole of my late adventure from the moment of my 
leaving the Temple to the time of my setting out for the Chateau. 

“ You have told me everything but one, Monsieur,” said 
he, as I finished. “ How came you ever to have heard the 
name of so humble a person as Jacques Caillon, for you 
remember you asked for me as you rode up ? ” 

“ I was just coming to that point, Jacques; and, as you 
will see, it was not an omission in my narrative, only that I 
had not reached so far.” 

I then proceeded to recount my night in the forest, and 
my singular meeting with poor Mahon, which he listened to 
with great attention and some anxiety. 

“ The poor colonel ! ” said he, breaking in, “ I suppose he 
is a hopeless case ; his mind can never come right again.” 

“ But if the persecution were to cease; if he were at 
liberty to appear once more in the world — ” 

“What if there was no persecution, sir?” broke in 
Jacques. “ What if the whole were a mere dream, or 
fancy? He is neither tracked nor followed. It is not such 
harmless game the bloodhounds of the Rue des Victoires 
scent out.” 

“Was it, then, some mere delusion drove him from the 
service?” said I, surprised. 

“ I never said so much as that,” replied Jacques ; “ Colo- 
nel Mahon has foul injury to complain of ; but his present 
sufferings are the inflictions of his own terror. He fancies 
that the whole power of France is at war with him, that 
every engine of the Government is directed against him ; 
with a restless fear he flies from village to village, fancying 
pursuit everywhere ; even kindness now he is distrustful of, 
and the chances are, that he will quit the forest this very day 
merely because he met you there.” 

From being of all men the most opened-hearted and frank, 
he had become the most suspicious ; he trusted nothing nor 
any one ; and if for a moment a burst of his old generous 
nature would return, it was sure to be followed by some 
excess of distrust that made him miserable almost to despair. 
Jacques was obliged to fall in with this humor, and only 
assist him by stealth and by stratagem ; he was even com- 


454 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


pelled to chime in with all his notions about pursuit and 
danger, to suggest frequent change of place and endless 
precautions against discovery. 

“Were I for once to treat him frankly, and ask him to 
share my home with me,” said Jacques, “ I should never see 
him more.” 

“What could have poisoned so noble a nature?” cried 
I ; “ when I saw him last he was the very type of generous 
confidence.” 

“Where was that, and when?” asked Jacques. 

“ It was at Nancy, on the march for the Rhine.” 

“ His calamities had not fallen on him then. He was a 
proud man in those days, but it was a pride that well became 
him ; he was the colonel of a great regiment, and for bravery 
had a reputation second to none.” 

“ He was married, I think? ” 

“ No, sir; he was never married.” 

As Jacques said this, he arose and moved slowly away, as 
though he would not be questioned further. His mind, too, 
seemed full of its own crowding memories, for he looked 
completely absorbed in thought, and never noticed my pre- 
sence for a considerable time. At last he appeared to have 
decided some doubtful issue within himself, and said, — 

“ Come, sir, let us stroll into the shade of the wood, and 
I ’ll tell you in a few words the cause of the poor colonel’s 
ruin, — for ruin it is. Even were all the injustice to be 
revoked to-morrow, the wreck of his heart could never be 
repaired.” 

We walked along, side by side, for some time, before 
Jacques spoke again, when he gave me, in brief and simple 
words, the following sorrowful story. It was such a type of 
the age, so pregnant with the terrible lessons of the time, 
that although not without some misgivings I repeat it here 
as it was told to myself, premising that however scant may 
be the reader’s faith in many of the incidents of my own nar- 
rative, — and I neither beg for his trust in me nor seek to 
entrap it, — I implore him to believe that what I am now 
about to tell was a plain matter of fact, and, save in the 
change of one name, not a single circumstance is owing to 
imagination. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


AN EPISODE OF ’94. 

When the French army fell back across the Sambre after 
the battle of Mons, a considerable portion of the rear who 
covered the retreat were cut off by the enemy, for it became 
their onerous duty to keep the allied forces in check, while 
the Republicans took measures to secure and hold fast the 
three bridges over the river. In this service many distin- 
guished French officers fell, and many more were left badly 
wounded on the field ; among the latter was a young captain 
of dragoons, who, with his hand nearly severed by a sabre 
cut, yet found strength enough to crawl under cover of a 
hedge, and there lie down in the fierce resolve to die where 
he was rather than surrender himself as a prisoner. 

Although the allied forces had gained the battle, they 
quickly foresaw that the ground they had won was unten- 
able; and scarcely had night closed in when they began 
their preparations to fall back. With strong pickets of 
observation to watch the bridges, they slowly withdrew 
their columns towards Mons, posting the artillery on the 
heights around Grandrengs. From these movements, the 
ground of the late struggle became comparatively deserted, 
and before day began to dawn not a sound was heard over 
its wide expanse save the faint moan of a dying soldier, or 
the low rumble of a cart as some spoiler of the dead stole 
stealthily along. Among the demoralizing effects of war, 
none was more striking than the number of the peasantry 
who betook themselves to this infamous trade ; and who, 
neglecting all thoughts of honest industry, devoted them- 
selves to robbery and plunder. The lust of gain did not 
stop with the spoil of the dead, but the wounded were often 


456 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


found stripped of everything ; and in some cases the traces 
of fierce struggle, and the wounds of knives and hatchets, 
showed that murder had consummated the iniquity of these 
wretches. 

In part from motives of pure humanity, in part from feel- 
ings of a more interested nature, — for the terror to what this 
demoralization would tend was now great and wide-spread, 
— the nobles and gentry of the land instituted a species of 
society to reward those who might succor the wounded, and 
who displayed any remarkable zeal in their care for the 
sufferers after a battle. This generous philanthropy was 
irrespective of country, and extended its benevolence to the 
soldiers of either army ; of course, personal feeling enjoyed 
all its liberty of preference, but it is fair to say that the 
cases were few where the wounded man could detect the 
political leanings of his benefactor. 

The immense granaries so universal in the Low Countries 
were usually fitted up as hospitals, and many rooms of the 
chateau itself were often devoted to the same purpose, — the 
various individuals of the household, from the seigneur to 
the lowest menial, assuming some office in the great work of 
charity ; and it was a curious thing to see how the luxurious 
indolence of chateau life became converted into the zealous 
activity of useful benevolence, — and not less curious to the 
moralist to observe how the emergent pressure of great 
crime so instinctively, as it were, suggested this display of 
virtuous humanity. 

It was a little before daybreak that a small cart drawn by 
a mule drew up beside the spot where the wounded dragoon 
sat, with his shattered arm bound up in his sash, calmly 
waiting for the death that his sinking strength told could not 
be far distant. As the peasant approached him, he grasped 
his sabre in the left hand, resolved on making a last and bold 
resistance ; but the courteous salutation and the kindly look 
of the honest countryman soon showed that he was come on 
no errand of plunder, while, in the few words of bad French 
he could muster, he explained his purpose. 

“No, no, my kind friend,” said the officer, “your labor 
would only be lost on me. It is nearly all over already! 
A little further on in the field, yonder, where that copse 


AN EPISODE OF *94. 


457 


stands, you ’ll find some poor fellow or other better worth 
your care, and more like to benefit by it. Adieu ! ” 

But neither the farewell nor the abrupt gesture that 
accompanied it could turn the honest peasant from his pur- 
pose. There was something that interested him in this very 
disregard of life, as well as in the personal appearance of the 
sufferer; and, without further colloquy, he lifted the half- 
fainting form into the cart, and disposing the straw comfort- 
ably on either side of him, set out homeward. The wounded 
man was almost indifferent to what happened, and never 
spoke a word nor raised his head as they went along. About 
three hours’ journey brought them to a large, old-fashioned 
chateau beside the Sambre, — an immense straggling edifice 
which, with a faQade of nearly a hundred windows, looked 
out upon the river. Although now in disrepair and neglect, 
with ill- trimmed alleys and grass-grown terraces, it had been 
once a place of great pretensions, and associated with some 
of the palmiest days of Flemish hospitality. The Chateau 
d’Overbecque was the property of a certain rich merchant of 
Antwerp named D’Aerschot, one of the oldest families of 
the land, and was, at the time we speak of, the temporary 
abode of his only son, who had gone there to pass the honey- 
moon. Except that they were both young, neither of them 
yet twenty, two people could not easily be found so discre- 
pant in every circumstance and every quality, — he the true 
descendant of a Flemish house, plodding, commonplace, and 
methodical, hating show and detesting expense ; ; she a lively, 
volatile girl, bursting with desire to see and be seen, fresh 
from the restraint of a convent at Bruges, and anxious to 
mix in all the pleasures and dissipations of the world. Like 
all marriages in their condition, it had been arranged without 
their knowledge or consent ; circumstances of fortune made 
the alliance suitable, — so many hundred thousand florins on 
one side were wedded to an equivalent on the other, and the 
young people were married to facilitate the “ transaction.” 

That he was not a little shocked at the gay frivolity of his 
beautiful bride, and she as much disappointed at the staid 
demureness of her stolid-looking husband, is not to be 
wondered at; but their friends knew well that time would 
smooth down greater discrepancies than even these ; and if 


458 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


ever there was a country the monotony of whose life could 
subdue all to its own leaden tone it was Holland in old days. 
Whether engaged in the active pursuit of gain in the great 
cities or enjoying the luxurious repose of chateau life, a dull, 
dreary uniformity pervaded everything ; the same topics, the 
same people, the same landscape, recurred day after day, and 
save what the season induced there was nothing of change 
in the whole round of their existence. And what a dull honey- 
moon was it for that young bride at the old Chateau d’Over- 
becque ! To toil along the deep sandy roads in a lumbering 
old coach with two long-tailed black horses ; to halt at some 
little eminence, and strain the eyes over a long unbroken flat, 
where a windmill, miles off, was an object of interest; to 
loiter beside the bank of a sluggish canal, and gaze on some 
tasteless excrescence of a summer-house whose owner could 
not be distinguished from the wooden effigy that sat, pipe in 
mouth, beside him ; to dine in the unbroken silence of a 
funeral feast, and doze away the afternoon over the “ Handels- 
blatt,” while her husband smoked himself into the seventh 
heaven of a Dutch Elysium, — poor Caroline ! this was a sorry 
realization of all her bright dreamings ! It ought to be borne 
in mind that many descendants of high French families, 
who were either too proud or too poor to emigrate to Eng- 
land or America, had sought refuge from the Revolution in 
the convents of the Low Countries, where, without entering 
an order, they lived in all the discipline of a religious com- 
munity. These ladies, many of whom had themselves mixed 
in all the elegant dissipations of the court, carried with them 
the most fascinating reminiscences of a life of pleasure, and 
could not readily forget the voluptuous enjoyments of Ver- 
sailles, and the graceful caprices of Le Petit Trianon. From 
such sources as these the young pupils drew all their ideas of 
the world, and assuredly it could have scarcely worn colors 
more likely to fascinate such imaginations. 

What a shortcoming was the wearisome routine of Over- 
becque to a mind full of all the refined follies of Marie 
Antoinette’s court! Even war and its chances offered a 
pleasurable contrast to such dull monotony, and the young 
bride hailed with eagerness the excitement and bustle of the 
moving armies, — the long columns which poured along the 


AN EPISODE OF ’94. 


459 


high road, and the clanking artillery heard for miles off. 
Monsieur d’Aerschot, like all his countrymen who held 
property near the frontier, was too prudent to have any 
political bias. Madame was, however, violently French. 
The people who had such admirable taste in toilette could 
scarcely be wrong in the theories of government; and a 
nation so invariably correct in dress could hardly be astray 
in morals. Besides this, all their notions of morality were 
as pliant and as easy to wear as their own well-fitting gar- 
ments. Nothing was wrong but what looked ungraceful; 
everything was right that sat becomingly on her who did 
it, — a short code, and wonderfully easy to learn. 

If I have dealt somewhat tediously on these tendencies of 
the time, it is that I may pass the more glibly over the 
consequences, and not pause upon the details by which the 
young French captain’s residence at Overbecque gradually 
grew, from the intercourse of kindness and good offices, to 
be a close friendship with his host, and as much of regard 
and respectful devotion as consisted with the position of his 
young and charming hostess. He thought her, as she cer- 
tainly was, very beautiful ; she rode to perfection, she sang 
delightfully ; she had all the volatile gayety of a happy child, 
with the graceful ease of coming womanhood. Her very 
passion for excitement gave a kind of life and energy to the 
dull old chateau, and made her momentary absence felt as a 
dreary blank. 

It is not my wish to speak of the feelings suggested by 
the contrast between her husband and the gay and chival- 
rous young soldier, nor how little such comparisons tended 
to allay the repinings at her lot. Their first effect was, how- 
ever, to estrange her more and more from D’Aerschot, a 
change which he accepted with the most Dutch indifference. 
Possibly piqued by this, or desirous of awakening his 
jealousy, she made more advances towards the other, select- 
ing him as the companion of her walks, and passing the 
greater portion of each day in his society. Nothing could 
be more honorable than the young soldier’s conduct in this 
trying position. The qualities of agreeability, which he had 
previously displayed to requite in some sort the hospitality 
of his hosts, he now gradually restrained, avoiding, as far as 


460 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


he could without remark, the society of the young Countess, 
and even feigning indisposition to escape from the peril of 
her intimacy. 

He did more, — he exerted himself to draw D’Aerschot more 
out, to make him exhibit the shrewd intelligence which lay 
buried beneath his native apathy, and display powers of 
thought and reflection of no mean order. Alas ! these very 
efforts on his part only increased the mischief, by adding 
generosity to his other virtues ! He now saw all the danger 
in which he was standing, and, although still weak and suffer- 
ing, resolved to take his departure. There was none of the 
concealed vanity of a coxcomb in this knowledge. He 
heartily deplored the injury he had unwittingly done, 
and the sorry return he had made for all their generous 
hospitality. 

There was not a moment to be lost ; but the very evening 
before, as they walked together in the garden, she had con- 
fessed to him the misery in which she lived by recounting 
the story of her ill-sorted marriage. What it cost him to 
listen to that sad tale with seeming coldness ! to hear her 
afflictions without offering one word of kindness ! nay, to 
proffer merely some dry, harsh counsels of patience and sub- 
mission, while he added something very like rebuke for her 
want of that assiduous affection which should have been 
given to her husband ! 

Unaccustomed to even the slightest censure, she could 
scarcely trust her ears as she heard him. Had she humiliated 
herself by such a confession, to be met by advice like this ? 
And was it he that should reproach her for the very faults 
his own intimacy had engendered? She could not endure 
the thought, and she felt that she could hate just at the very 
moment when she knew she loved him ! 

They parted in anger, — reproaches, the most cutting and 
bitter, on her part ; coldness, far more wounding, on his ! 
sarcastic compliments upon his generosity, replied to by as 
sincere expressions of respectful friendship ! What hypocrisy 
and self-deceit together ! And -yet deep beneath all lay the 
firm resolve for future victory. Her wounded self-love was 
irritated, and she was not one to turn from an unfinished 
purpose. As for him, he waited till all was still and silent 


AN EPISODE OF ’94. 


461 


in the house, and then seeking out D’Aerschot’s chamber, 
thanked him most sincerely for all his kindness, and affecting 
a hurried order to join his service, departed. While in her 
morning dreams she was fancying conquest, he was already 
miles away on the road to France. 

It was about three years after this that a number of 
French officers were seated one evening in front of a little 
cafe in Freyburg. The town was then crammed with troops 
moving down to occupy the passes of the Rhine, near the 
Lake of Constance, and every hour saw fresh arrivals pour- 
ing in, dusty and wayworn from the march. The necessity 
for a sudden massing of the troops in a particular spot com- 
pelled the generals to employ every possible means of con- 
veyance to forward the men to their destination; and from 
the lumbering old diligence with ten horses to the light cha- 
rette with one, all were engaged in this pressing service. 
When men were weary, and unable to march forward, they 
were taken up for twelve or fourteen miles, after which they 
proceeded on their way, making room for others ; and thus 
forty and even fifty miles were frequently accomplished in 
the same day. 

The group before the cafe were amusing themselves criti- 
cising the strange appearance of the new arrivals, many of 
whom certainly made their entry in the least military fashion 
possible. Here came a great country wagon, with forty 
infantry soldiers all sleeping on the straw ; here followed a 
staff-officer trying to look quite at his ease in a donkey-cart ; 
unwieldy old bullock-carts were filled with men, and a half- 
starved mule tottered along with a drummer-boy in one 
pannier and camp-kettles in the other. 

He who was fortunate enough to secure a horse for him- 
self was obliged to carry the swords and weapons of his 
companions, which were all hung around and about him on 
every side, together with helmets and shakos of all shapes 
and sizes, whose owners were fain to cover their head with 
the less soldier-like appendages of a nightcap or a handker- 
chief. Nearly all who marched carried then’ caps on their 
muskets, for in such times as these all discipline is relaxed, 
save such as is indispensable to the maintenance of order ; 


462 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


and so far was freedom conceded that some were to be seen 
walking barefoot in the ranks, while their shoes were sus- 
pended by a string on their backs. The rule seemed to be 
“ Get forward, it matters not how, — only get forward ! ” 

And with French troops such relaxation of strict discipline 
is always practicable; the instincts of obedience return at 
the first call of the bugle or the first roll of the drum ; and 
at the word to “fall in!” every symptom of disorder 
vanishes, and the mass of seeming confusion becomes the 
steady and silent phalanx. 

Many were the strange sights that passed before the eyes 
of the party at the m/e, who, having arrived early in the 
day, gave themselves all the airs of ease and indolence 
before their way-worn comrades. Now laughing heartily at 
the absurdity of this one, now exchanging some good- 
humored jest with that, they were in the very full current of 
their criticism, when the sharp shrill crack of a postilion’s 
whip informed them that a traveller of some note was 
approaching. A mounted courier, all slashed with gold lace, 
came riding up the street at the same moment, and a short 
distance behind followed a handsome equipage drawn by six 
horses, after which came a heavy “ fourgon” with four. 

One glance showed that the whole equipage betokened a 
wealthy owner. There was all that cumbrous machinery of 
comfort about it that tells of people who will not trust to 
the chances of the road for their daily wants. Every appli- 
ance of ease was there, and even in the self-satisfied air of 
the servants who lounged in the rumble might be read habits 
of affluent prosperity. A few short years back, and none 
would have dared to use such an equipage, — the sight of so 
much indulgence would have awakened the fiercest rage of 
popular fury ; but already the high fever of democracy was 
gradually subsiding, and, bit by bit, men were found revert- 
ing to old habits and old usages. Still, each new indication 
of these tastes met a certain amount of reprobation. Some 
blamed openly, some condemned in secret ; but all felt that 
there was at least impolicy in a display which would serve as 
pretext to the terrible excesses that were committed under 
the banner of “Equality.” 

“If we lived in the days of princes,” said one of the 


AN EPISODE OF ’94. 


463 


officers, “ I should say there goes one now. Just look at all 
the dust they are kicking up yonder ; while, as if to point a 
moral upon greatness, they are actually stuck fast in the 
narrow street, and unable, from their own unwieldiness, to 
get farther.” 

“Just so,” cried another; “they want to turn down 
towards the Swan, and there is n’t space enough to wheel 
the leaders.” 

“ Who or what are they? ” asked a third. 

“ Some commissary-general, I’ll be sworn,” said the first. 
“They are the most shameless thieves going; for they are 
never satisfied with robbery if they do not exhibit the spoils 
in public.” 

“ I see a bonnet and a lace veil,” said another, rising sud- 
denly, and pushing through the crowd. “I’ll wager it’s a 
danseuse of the Grand Opera.” 

“ Look at Merode ! ” remarked the former, as he pointed 
to the last speaker. 4 4 See how he thrusts himself forward 
there. Watch, and you ’ll see him bow and smile to her, as 
if they had been old acquaintances.” 

The guess was so far unlucky that Merode had no sooner 
come within sight of the carriage-window than he was seen 
to bring his hand to the salute, and remain in an attitude of 
respectful attention till the equipage moved on. 

44 Well, Merode, who is it — who are they? ” cried several 
together, as he fell back among his comrades. 

“It’s our new adjutant-general. Parbleu ! ” said he, 
44 and he caught me staring in at his pretty wife.” 

44 Colonel Mahon ! ” said another, laughing. 44 1 wish you 
joy of your gallantry, Merode.” 

“And, worse still,” broke in a third, 44 she is not his 
wife. She never could obtain the divorce to allow her to 
marry again. Some said it was the husband — a Dutchman, 
I believe — refused it; but the simple truth is she never 
wished it herself.” 

44 How not wish it? ” remarked three or four in a breath. 

4 4 Why should she ? Has she not every advantage the 
position could give her, and her liberty into the bargain? 
If we were back again in the old days of the monarchy, I 
agree with you she could not go to court ; she would receive 


464 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


no invitations to the petits soupers of the Trianon, nor be 
asked to join the discreet hunting-parties at Fontainebleau ; 
but we live in less polished days, and if we have little 
virtue we have less hypocrisy.” 

44 Voila!” cried another, “only I, for one, would never 
believe that we are a jot more wicked or more dissolute than 
those powdered and perfumed scoundrels that played courtier 
in the king’s bedchamber.” 

“There, they are getting out, at the Tour d’Argent!” 
cried another. 4 4 She is a splendid figure, and what mag- 
nificence in her dress ! ” 

44 Mahon waits on her like a lacquais,” muttered a grim 
old lieutenant of infantry. 

44 Rather like a well-born cavalier, I should say,” inter- 
posed a young hussar. 44 His manner is all that it ought to 
be, — full of devotion and respect.” 

44 Bah ! ” said the former ; 44 a soldier’s wife, or a soldier’s 
mistress (for it ’s all one) , should know how to climb up to 
her place on the baggage-wagon without three lazy rascals 
to catch her sleeve or her petticoats for her.” 

44 Mahon is as gallant a soldier as any in this army,” said 
the hussar; 44 and I’d not be in the man’s coat who dis- 
paraged him in anything.” 

44 By St. Denis ! ” broke in another, 44 he ’s not more brave 
than he is fortunate. Let me tell you, it ’s no slight luck to 
chance upon so lovely a woman as that, with such an immense 
fortune too.” 

44 Is she rich? ” 

44 Enormously rich. He has nothing. An emigre of good 
family, I believe, but without a sous ; and see how he travels 
yonder ! ” 

While this conversation was going forward, the new 
arrivals had alighted at the chief inn of the town and were 
being installed in the principal suite of rooms, which opened 
on a balcony over the Place. The active preparations of 
the host to receive such distinguished guests — the hurrying 
of servants here and there, the blaze of wax-lights that 
shone half-way across the street beneath, and lastly the 
appearance of a regimental band to play under the windows 
— were all circumstances well calculated to sustain and 


AN EPISODE OF '94. 


465 


stimulate that spirit of sharp criticism which the group 
around the cafe were engaged in. 

The discussion was, however, suddenly interrupted by the 
entrance of an officer, at whose appearance every one arose 
and stood in attitudes of respectful attention. Scarcely 
above the middle size, and more remarkable for the calm and 
intellectual cast of his features than for that air of military 
pride then so much in vogue amongst the French troops, he 
took his place at a small table near the door and called for 
his coffee. It was only when he was seated, and that by a 
slight gesture he intimated his wishes to that effect, that the 
others resumed their places and continued the conversation, 
but in a lower, more subdued tone. 

“What distinguished company have we got yonder?” 
said he, after about half an hour’s quiet contemplation of 
the crowd before the inn and the glaring illumination from 
the windows. 

“ Colonel Mahon, of the Fifth Cuirassiers, General,” 
replied an officer. 

“Our Republican simplicity is not so self-denying a 
system, after all, gentlemen,” said the general, smiling half 
sarcastically. “ Is he very rich? ” 

“ His mistress is, General,” was the prompt reply. 

“Bah!” said the general, as he threw his cigar away, 
and with a contemptuous expression of look arose and 
walked away. 

“ j Parbleu! he’s going to the inn,” cried an officer, who 
peered out after him ; “ I ’ll be sworn Mahon will get a heavy 
reprimand for all this display and ostentation.” 

“And why not?” said another. “Is it when men are 
arriving half dead with fatigue, without rations, without 
billets, glad to snatch a few hours’ rest on the stones of the 
Place, that the colonel of a regiment should travel with all 
the state of an eastern despot ? ” 

“We might as well have the monarchy back again,” said 
an old weather-beaten captain ; “I say far better, for their 
vices sat gracefully and becomingly on those essenced 
scoundrels, whereas they but disfigure the plainness of our 
daily habits.” 

“ All this is sheer envy, comrades,” broke in a young 

30 


466 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


major of hussars, — “ sheer envy ; or, what is worse, down- 
right hypocrisy. Not one of us is a whit better or more 
moral than if he wore the livery of a king, and carried a 
crown on his shako instead of that naked damsel that 
represents French liberty. Mahon is the luckiest fellow 
going, and, I heartily believe, the most deserving of his 
fortune ! And see if General Moreau be not of my opinion. 
There he is on the balcony, and she is leaning on his arm.” 

“ Parbleu! the major is right! ” said another; “ but, for 
certain, it was not in that humor he left us just now ; his 
lips were closely puckered up, and his fingers were twisted 
into his sword-knot, — two signs of anger and displeasure 
there ’s no mistaking.” 

“ If he ’s in a better temper, then,” said another, “ it was 
never the smiles of a pretty woman worked the change. 
There’s not a man in France so thoroughly indifferent to 
such blandishments.” 

“ Tant pis pour lui,” said the major; “but they’re 
closing the window-shutters, and we may as well go 
home.” 


CHAPTER XLV. 


THE CABINET OF A CHEF-DE-POLICE. 

Whatever opinion may be formed of the character of the 
celebrated conspiracy of Georges and Pichegru, the mode of 
its discovery and the secret rules by which its plans were 
detected are among the great triumphs of police skill. From 
the hour when the conspirators first met together in London 
to that last fatal moment when they expired in the Temple, 
the agents of Fouche never ceased to track them. 

Their individual tastes and ambitions were studied, their 
habits carefully investigated, everything that could give a 
clew to their turn of thought or mind well weighed ; so that 
the Consular Government was not only in possession of all 
their names and rank, but knew thoroughly the exact amount 
of complicity attaching to each, and could distinguish be- 
tween the reckless violence of Georges and the more tempered 
but higher ambition of Moreau. It was a long while doubt- 
ful whether the great general would be implicated in the 
scheme. His habitual reserve — a habit less of caution than 
of constitutional delicacy — had led him to few intimacies, 
and nothing like even one close friendship ; he moved little 
in society ; he corresponded with none, save on the duties of 
the service. Fouche’s well-known boast of, “ Give me two 
words of a man’s writing, and I’ll hang him,” were then 
scarcely applicable here. 

To attack such a man unsuccessfully, to arraign him on a 
weak indictment, would have been ruin ; and yet Bonaparte’s 
jealousy of his great rival pushed him even to this peril, 
rather than risk the growing popularity of his name with the 
army. 

Fouche, and, it is said also, Talleyrand, did all they could 
to dissuade the First Consul from this attempt ; but he was 


468 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


fixed and immutable in his resolve, and the Police Minister 
at once addressed himself to his task with all his accustomed 
cleverness. 

High play was one of the great vices of the day. It was 
a time of wild and varied excitement, and men sought even 
in their dissipations the whirlwind passions that stirred them 
in active life. Moreau, however, was no gambler ; it was 
said that he never could succeed in learning a game. He 
whose mind could comprehend the most complicated question 
of strategy was obliged to confess himself conquered by 
ecarte ! So much for the vaunted intellectuality of the play 
table ! Neither was he addicted to wine. All his habits 
were temperate, even to the extent of unsociality. 

A man who spoke little and wrote less, who indulged in no 
dissipations nor seemed to have taste for any, was a difficult 
subject to treat ; and so Fouche found, as day after day his 
spies reported to him the utter failure of all their schemes to 
entrap him. Lajolais, the friend of Pichegru and the man 
who betrayed him, was the chief instrument the Police Min- 
ister used to obtain secret information. Being well born, 
and possessed of singularly pleasing manners, he had the 
entree of the best society of Paris, where his gay, easy 
humor made him a great favorite. Lajolais, however, could 
never penetrate into the quiet domesticity of Moreau’s life, 
nor make any greater inroad on his intimacy than a courteous 
salutation as they passed each other in the garden of the 
Luxembourg. At the humble restaurant where he dined 
each day for two francs, the u General,” as he was distinc- 
tively called, never spoke to any one. Unobtrusive and 
quiet, he occupied a little table in a recess of the window, 
and arose the moment he finished his humble meal. After 
this he was to be seen in the garden of the Luxembourg, 
with a cigar and a book, or sometimes without either, seated 
pensively under a tree for hours together. 

If he had been conscious of the espionage, established 
over all his actions, he could scarcely have adopted a more 
guarded or more tantalizing policy. To the verbal communi- 
cations of Pichegru and Armand Polignac, he returned vague 
replies ; their letters he never answered at all ; and Lajolais 
had to confess that after two months of close pursuit the 
game was as far from him as ever! 


THE CABINET OF A CHEF-DE-POLICE. 


469 


“You have come to repeat the old song tome, Monsieur 
Lajolais,” said Fouche one evening, as his wily subordinate 
entered the room ; “ you have nothing to tell me, eh? ” 

“Very little, Monsieur le Ministre, but still something. 
I have at last found out where Moreau spends all his even- 
ings. I told you that about half-past nine o’clock every 
night all lights were extinguished in his quarters, and, from 
the unbroken stillness, it was conjectured that he had retired 
to bed. Now, it seems that about an hour later he is accus- 
tomed to leave his house, and crossing the Place de l’Odeon, 
to enter the little street called the Allee de Caire, where, in a 
small house next but one to the corner, resides a certain offi- 
cer, en retraite , — a Colonel Mahon of the Cuirassiers.” 

“ A Royalist? ” 

“ This is suspected, but not known. His politics, how- 
ever, are not in question here ; the attraction is of a different 
order.” 

“ Ha ! I perceive ; he has a wife or a daughter.” 

“ Better still, a mistress. You may have heard of the 
famous Caroline de Stassart, that married a Dutchman 
named D’Aerschot.” 

“ Madame Laure, as they called her,” said Fouche, 
laughing. 

“The same. She has lived as Mahon’s wife for some 
years, and was as such introduced into society; in fact, 
there is no reason, seeing what society is in these days, that 
she should not participate in all its pleasures.” 

“ No matter for that,” broke in Fouche ; “ Bonaparte will 
not have it so. He wishes that matters should go back to 
the old footing, and wisely remarks that it is only in savage 
life that people or vices go without clothing.” 

“Be it so, Monsieur. In the present case no such step is 
necessary. I know her maid, and from her I have heard that 
her mistress is heartily tired of her protector. It was origi- 
nally a sudden fancy, taken when she knew nothing of life, 
— had neither seen anything, nor been herself seen. By the 
most wasteful habits she has dissipated all, or nearly all, her 
own large fortune, and involved Mahon heavily in debt ; and 
they are thus reduced to a life of obscurity and poverty, — 
the very things the least endurable to all her notions.” 


470 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“Well, does she care for Moreau?” asked Fouche, 
quickly ; for all stories to his ear only resolved themselves 
into some question of utility or gain. 

“No, but he does for her. About a year back she did 
take a liking to him. He was returning from his great Ger- 
man campaign, covered with honors and rich in fame ; but 
as her imagination is captivated by splendor, while her heart 
remains perfectly cold and intact, Moreau’s simple, unpre- 
tending habits quickly effaced the memory of his hard-won 
glory, and now she is quite indifferent to him.” 

“ And who is her idol now, — for of course she has one? ” 
asked Fouche. 

“ You would scarcely guess,” said Lajolais. 

“ Parbleu! I hope it is not myself,” said Fouche, 
laughing. 

“ No, Monsieur le Ministre, her admiration is not so well 
placed. The man who has captivated her present fancy is 
neither good-looking nor well-mannered ; he is short and 
abrupt of speech, careless in dress, utterly indifferent to 
woman’s society, and almost rude to them.” 

“You have drawn the very picture of a man to be adored 
by them,” said Fouche, with a dry laugh. 

“ I suppose so,” said the other with a sigh; “ or General 
Ney would not have made this conquest.” 

“ Ah ! it is Ney, then. And he, what of him? ” 

“ It is hard to say. As long as she lived in a grand house 
of the Rue St. Georges, where he could dine four days a 
week, and in his dirty boots and unbrushed frock mix with 
all the fashion and elegance of the capital ; while he could 
stretch full length on a Persian Ottoman, and brush the 
cinders from his cigar against a statuette by Canova or a 
gold embroidered hanging ; while in the midst of the most 
voluptuous decorations he alone could be dirty and uncared 
for, — I really believe that he did care for her, at least, so 
far as ministering to his own* enjoyments ; but in a miserable 
lodging of the Allee de Caire, without equipage, lackeys, 
liveried footmen — ” 

“To be sure,” interrupted Fouche, “one might as well 
pretend to be fascinated by the beauty of a landscape the 
day after it has been desolated by an earthquake. Ney is 


THE CABINET OF A CHEF-DE-POLICE. 


471 


right! Well, now, Monsieur Lajolais, where does all this 
bring us to ? ” 

“ Very near to the end of our journey, Monsieur le Mi- 
nistre. Madame, or Mademoiselle, is most anxious to regain 
her former position ; she longs for all the luxurious splendor 
she used to live in. Let us but show her this rich reward, 
and she will be our own ! ” 

“In my trade, Monsieur Lajolais, generalities are worth 
nothing. Give me details ; let me know how you would 
proceed.” 

“ Easily enough, sir ; Mahon must first of all be disposed 
of, and perhaps the best way will be to have him arrested 
for debt. This will not be difficult, for his bills are every- 
where. Once in the Temple, she will never think more of 
him. It must then be her task to obtain the most complete 
influence over Moreau. She must affect the deepest interest 
in the Royalist cause : I ’ll furnish her with all the watch- 
words of the party ; and Moreau, who never trusts a man, 
will open all his confidence to a woman.” 

“ Very good, go on ! ” cried Fouche, gathering fresh inter- 
est as the plot began to reveal itself before him. 

“He hates writing; she will be his secretary, embodying 
all his thoughts and suggestions, and now and then, for her 
own guidance, obtaining little scraps in his hand. If he be 
too cautious here, I will advise her to remove to Geneva for 
change of air : he likes Switzerland, and will follow her 
immediately.” 

“ This will do ; at least it looks practicable,” said Fouche, 
thoughtfully; “is she equal to the part you would assign 
her? ” 

‘ ‘ Ay, sir, and to a higher one, too ! She has considerable 
ability, and great ambition. Her present narrow fortune has 
irritated and disgusted her ; the moment is most favorable 
for us.” 

“ If she should play us false,” said Fouche, half aloud. 

“ From all I can learn, there is no risk of this. There 
is a headlong determination in her, when once she has con- 
ceived a plan, from which nothing turns her; overlooking 
all but her object, she will brave anything, do anything, to 
attain it.” 


472 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ Bonaparte was right in what he said of Necker’s daugh- 
ter,” said Fouche, musingly, 4 4 and there is no doubt it adds 
wonderfully to a woman’s head that she has no heart. And 
now, the price, Master Lajolais ! remember that our treasury 
received some deadly wounds lately — what is to be the 
price ? ” 

44 It may be a smart one ; she is not likely to be a cheap 
purchase.” 

44 In the event of success, I mean of such proof as may 
enable us to arrest Moreau and commit him to prison — ” 
He stopped as he got thus far, and paused for some seconds. 
44 Bethink you, then, Lajolais,” said he, 44 what a grand step 
this would be, and how terrible the consequences if under- 
taken on rash or insufficient grounds. Moreau’s popularity 
with the army is only second to one man’s ! His unambitious 
character has made him many friends ; he has few, very few, 
enemies.” 

44 But you need not push matters to the last: an implied 
but not a proven guilt, would be enough ; and you can par- 
don him ! ” 

44 Ay, Lajolais, but who would pardon us? ” cried Fouche, 
carried beyond all the bounds of his prudence by the thought 
of a danger so imminent. 44 Well, well, let us come back; 
the price — will that do ? ” And taking up a pen he scratched 
some figures on a piece of paper. 

Lajolais smiled dubiously, and added a unit to the left of 
the sum. 

“What! a hundred and fifty thousand francs!” cried 
Fouche. 

44 And a cheap bargain, too,” said the other; 44 for after 
all it is only the price of a ticket in the lottery, of which the 
great prize is General Ney ! ”' 

44 You say truly,” said the minister; 44 be it so.” 

“Write your name there, then,” said Lajolais, 44 beneath 
those figures ; that will be warranty sufficient for my nego- 
tiation, and leave the rest to me.” 

“Nature evidently meant you for a Chef-de-Police, 
Master Lajolais.” 

44 Or a Cardinal, Monsieur le Ministre,” said the other, as 
he folded up the paper, a little insignificant slip, scrawled over 


THE CABINET OF A CHEF-DE-POLICE. 


473 


with a few figures and an almost illegible word, and yet 
pregnant with infamy to one, banishment to another, ruin 
and insanity to a third. 

This sad record need not be carried further. It is far 
from a pleasant task to tell of baseness unredeemed by one 
trait of virtue, of treachery unrepented even by regret. 
History records Moreau’s unhappy destiny; the pages of 
private memoir tell of Ney’s disastrous connection ; our own 
humble reminiscences speak of poor Mahon’s fate, — the 
least known of all, but the most sorrowful victim of a 
woman’s treachery. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 


A GLANCE AT THE “PREFECTURE DE POLICE.” 

Poor Mahon’s melancholy story made a deep impression 
upon me, and I returned to Paris execrating the whole race 
of spies and mouchards, and despising with a most hearty 
contempt a Government compelled to use such agencies for 
its existence. It seemed to me so utterly impossible to 
escape the snares of a system so artfully interwoven, and so 
vain to rely on innocence as a protection, that I felt a kind 
of reckless hardihood as to whatever might betide me, and 
rode into the Cour of the Prefecture with a bold indifference 
as to my fate I have often wondered at since. 

The horse on which I was mounted was immediately recog- 
nized as I entered, and the obsequious salutations that met 
me showed that I was regarded as one of the trusty followers 
of the minister ; and in this capacity was I ushered into a 
large waiting-room, where a considerable number of persons 
were assembled whose air and appearance, now that neces- 
sity for disguise was over, unmistakably pronounced them to 
be spies of the police. Some, indeed, were occupied in 
taking off their false whiskers and mustaches ; others were 
removing shades from their eyes ; and one was carefully 
opening what had been the hump on his back in search of a 
paper he was anxious to discover. 

I had very little difficulty in ascertaining that these were 
all the very lowest order of mouchards, whose sphere of duty 
rarely led beyond the Fauxbourg or the Battignolles, and 
indeed soon saw that my own appearance amongst them led 
to no little surprise and astonishment. 

“You are looking for Nicquard, Monsieur?” said one, 
“ but he has not come yet.” 

“ No; Monsieur wants to see Boule-de-Fer,” said another. 


A GLANCE AT THE “ PREFECTURE DE POLICE.” 475 

“ Here ’s Jose can fetch him,” cried a third. 

“He’ll have to carry him, then,” growled out another, 
“ for I saw him in the Morgue this morning ! ” 

“ What ! dead?” exclaimed several together. 

“ As dead as four stabs in the heart and lungs can make 
a man! He must have been meddling where he had no 
business, for there was a piece of a lace ruffle found in his 
fingers.” 

u Ah, voila /” cried another, “that comes of mixing in 
high society.” 

I did not wait for the discussion that followed, but stole 
quietly away as the disputants were waxing warm. Instead 
of turning into the Cour again, however, I passed out into a 
corridor, at the end of which was a door of green cloth. 
Pushing open this, I found myself in a chamber, where a 
single clerk was writing at a table. 

“ You’re late to-day, and he’s not in a good humor,” said 
he, scarcely looking up from his paper, “ go in ! ” 

Resolving to see my adventure to the end, I asked no 
further questions, but passed on to the room beyond. A 
person who stood within the doorway withdrew as I entered, 
and I found myself standing face to face with the Marquis 
de Maurepas, or, to speak more properly, the Minister 
Fouche. He was standing at the fireplace as I came in, read- 
ing a newspaper, but no sooner had he caught sight of me 
then he laid it down, and, with his hands crossed behind his 
back, continued steadily staring at me. 

“ Diable ! ” exclaimed he, at last, “ how came you here? ” 

“ Nothing more naturally, sir, than from the wish to re- 
store what you were so good as to lend me, and express my 
sincere gratitude for a most hospitable reception.” 

4 4 And who admitted you ? ” 

“ I fancy your saddle-cloth was my introduction, sir, for 
it was speedily recognized. Gesler’s cap was never held in 
greater honor.” 

“ You are a very courageous young gentleman, I must say 
— very courageous, indeed,” said he, with a sardonic grin 
that was anything but encouraging. 

4 4 The better chance that I may find favor with Monsieur 
de Fouche,” replied I. 


476 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ That remains to be seen, sir,” said he, seating himself 
in his chair, and motioning me to a spot in front of it. “ Who 
are you ? ” 

“ A lieutenant of the Ninth Hussars, sir; by name Mau- 
rice Tiernay.” 

“ I don’t care for that,” said he, impatiently ; “ what ’s your 
occupation — how do you live — with whom do you associate ? ” 

“ I have neither means nor associates. I have been 
liberated from the Temple but a few days back ; and what 
is to be my future and where are facts of which I know 
as little as does Monsieur de Fouche of my past history.” 

“ It would seem that every adventurer, every fellow desti- 
tute of home, family, fortune, and position, thinks that his 
natural refuge lies in this Ministry, and that I must be his 
guardian.” 

u I never thought so, sir.” 

“Then why are you here? What other than personal 
reasons procures me the honor of this visit?” 

“ As Monsieur de Fouche will not believe in my sense of 
gratitude, perhaps he may put some faith in my curiosity, 
and excuse the natural anxiety I feel to know if Monsieur 
de Maurepas has really benefited by the pleasure of my 
society.” 

“Hardi, Monsieur, bien hardi,” said the Minister, with a 
peculiar expression of irony about the mouth that made me 
almost shudder. He rang a little hand-bell as he spoke, and 
a servant made his appearance. 

“ You have forgotten to leave me my snuff-box, Geoffroy,” 
said he mildly to the valet, who at once left the room and 
speedily returned with a magnificently-chased gold box, 
on which the initials of the. First Consul were embossed in 
diamonds. 

“Arrange those papers, and place those books on the 
shelves,” said the Minister; and then turning to me, as if 
resuming a previous conversation, went on, — 

“As to that memoir of which we were speaking t’ other 
night, Monsieur, it would be exceedingly interesting just 
now ; and I have no doubt that you will see the propriety of 
confiding to me what you already promised to Monsieur de 
Maurepas. That will do, Geoffroy ; leave us.” 


A GLANCE AT THE “PREFECTURE DE POLICE.” 477 

The servant retired, and we were once more alone. 

“ I possess no secrets, sir, worthy the notice of the 
Minister of Police,” said I, boldly. 

“ Of that I may presume to be the better judge,” said 
Fouche, calmly. “ But waiving this question, there is 
another of some importance. You have, partly by accident, 
partly by a boldness not devoid of peril, obtained some little 
insight into the habits and details of this Ministry ; at least, 
you have seen enough to suspect more, and misrepresent 
what you cannot comprehend. Now, sir, there is an almost 
universal custom in all secret societies of making those who 
intrude surreptitiously within their limits to take every oath 
and pledge of that society, and to assume every responsibility 
that attaches to its voluntary members — ” 

“Excuse my interrupting you, sir; but my intrusion was 
purely involuntary ; I was made the dupe of a police spy.” 

“Having ascertained which,” resumed he, coldly, “your 
wisest policy would have been to have kept the whole inci- 
dent for yourself alone, and neither have uttered one syllable 
about it, nor ventured to come here, as you have done, to 
display what you fancy to be your power over the Minister 
of Police. You are a very young man, and the lesson may 
possibly be of service to you ; and never forget that to 
attempt a contest of address with those whose habits have 
taught them every wile and subtlety of their fellow-men will 
always be a failure. This Ministry would be a sorry engine 
of government if men of your stamp could outwit it.” 

I stood abashed and confused under a rebuke which at the 
same time I felt to be but half deserved. 

“ Do you understand Spanish? ” asked he, suddenly. 

“ No, sir, not a word.” 

“I’m sorry for it ; you should learn that language without 
loss of time. Leave your address with my secretary, and 
call here by Monday or Tuesday next.” 

“ If I may presume so far, sir,” said I, with a great effort 
to seem collected, “I would infer that your intention is to 
employ me in some capacity or other. It is, therefore, 
better I should say at once I have neither the ability nor the 
desire for such occupation. I have always been a soldier. 
Whatever reverses of fortune I may meet with, I would wish 


478 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


still to continue in the same career. At all events, I could 
never become a — a — ” 

“ Spy. Say the word out; its meaning conveys nothing 
offensive to my ears, young man. I may grieve over the 
corruption that requires such a system ; but I do not 
confound the remedy with the disease.” 

“My sentiments are different, sir,” said I resolutely, as I 
moved towards the door. “ I have the honor to wish you a 
good morning.” 

“ Stay a moment, Tiernay,” said he, looking for some- 
thing amongst his papers; “there are, probably, situations 
where all your scruples could find accommodation, and even 
be serviceable, too.” 

“ I would rather not place them in peril, Monsieur Le 
Ministre.” 

“There are people in this city of Paris who would not 
despise my protection, young man, some of them to the full 
as well supplied with the gifts of fortune as Monsieur 
Tiernay.” 

“And, doubtless, more fitted to deserve it!” said I, 
sarcastically ; for every moment now rendered me more 
courageous. 

“And, doubtless, more fitted to deserve it,” repeated he 
after me, with a wave of the hand in token of adieu. 

I bowed respectfully, and was retiring, when he called out 
in a low and gentle voice, — 

“ Before you go, Monsieur de Tiernay, I will thank you to 
restore my snuff-box.” 

“ Your snuff-box, sir? ” cried I, indignantly, “ what do I 
know of it? ” 

“In a moment of inadvertence, you may probably have 
placed it in your pocket,” said he, smiling; “do me the 
favor to search there.” 

“This is unnecessary insult, sir,” said I fiercely; “and 
you forget that I am a French officer ! ” 

“ It is of more consequence that you should remember it,” 
said he, calmly; “ and now, sir, do as I have told you.” 

“It is well, sir, that this scene has no witness,” said I, 
boiling over with passion, “or, by Heaven, all the dignity 
of your station should not save you.” 


A GLANCE AT THE “PREFECTURE DE POLICE.” 479 

“ Your observation is most just,” said he, with the same 
coolness. “It is as well that we are quite alone; and for 
this reason I beg to repeat my request. If you persist in a 
refusal, and force me to ring that bell — ” 

“You would not dare to offer me such an indignity,” said 
I, trembling with rage. 

“ You leave me no alternative, sir,” said he, rising, and 
taking the bell in his hand. “ My honor is also engaged in 
this question. I have preferred a charge — ” 

“You have,” cried I, interrupting, “and for whose false- 
hood I am resolved to hold you responsible.” 

“ To prove which you must show your innocence.” 

“ There, then, — there are my pockets ; here are the few 
things I possess. This is my pocket-book, my purse. Oh, 
heavens, what is this?” cried I, as I drew forth the gold 
box, along with the other contents of my pocket ; and then 
staggering back, I fell, overwhelmed with shame and sick- 
ness, against the wall. For some seconds I neither saw nor 
heard anything ; a vague sense of ineffable disgrace, of some 
ignominy that made life a misery, was over me, and I closed 
my eyes with the wish never to open them more. 

“ The box has a peculiar value in my eyes, sir,” said he ; 
“ it was a present from the First Consul, otherwise I might 
have hesitated — ” 

“ Oh, sir, you cannot, you dare not, suppose me guilty of 
a theft ! You seem bent on being my ruin ; but, for mercy’s 
sake, let your hatred of me take some other shape than this. 
Involve me in what snares, what conspiracies you will, give 
me what share you please in any guilt, but spare me the 
degradation of such a shame ! ” 

He seemed to enjoy the torments I was suffering, and 
actually to revel in the contemplation of my misery ; for he 
never spoke a word, but continued steadily to stare me in 
the face. 

“ Sit down here, Monsieur,” said he, at length, while he 
pointed to a chair near him ; “I wish to say a few words to 
you, in all seriousness, and in good faith also.” 

I seated myself, and he went on. 

“The events of the last two days must have made such 
an impression on your mind that even the most remarkable 


480 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


incidents of your life could not compete with. You fancied 
yourself a great discoverer, and that by the happy conjunc- 
ture of intelligence and accident you had actually fathomed 
the depths of that wonderful system of police, which, more 
powerful than armies or councils, is the real government of 
France. I will not stop now to convince you that you have 
not wandered out of the very shallowest channels of this 
system. It is enough that you have been admitted to an 
audience with me to suggest an opposite conviction, and give 
to your recital, when you repeat the tale, a species of impor- 
tance. Now, sir, my counsel to you is, never to repeat it, 
and for this reason, — nobody possessed of common powers 
of judgment will ever believe you! not one, sir! No one 
would ever believe that Monsieur Fouche had made so grave 
a mistake, no more than he would believe that a man of good 
name or birth, a French officer, could have stolen a snuff-box. 
You see, Monsieur de Tiernay, that I acquit you of this 
shameful act. Imitate my generosity, sir, and forget all 
that you have witnessed since Tuesday last. I have given 
you good advice, sir ; if I find that you profit by it we may 
see more of each other.” 

Scarcely appreciating the force of his parable and think- 
ing of nothing save the vindication of my honor, I muttered 
a few unmeaning words and withdrew, glad to escape a pres- 
ence which had assumed to my terrified senses all the diaboli- 
cal subtlety of Satanic influence. Trusting that no future 
accident of my life should ever bring me within such pre- 
cincts, I hurried from the place as though it were contaminated 
and plague-stricken. 


CHAPTER XLYII. 


“ THE VILLAGE OF SCHWARTZ-ACH.” 

I was destitute enough when I quitted the Temple, a few 
days back ; but my condition now was sadder still, for in 
addition to my poverty and friendlessness I had imbibed a 
degree of distrust and suspicion that made me shun my 
fellow-men, and actually shrink from the contact of a 
stranger. The commonest show of courtesy, the most 
ordinary exercise of politeness, struck me as the secret wiles 
of that police whose machinations, I fancied, were still 
spread around me. I had conceived a most intense hatred 
of civilization, or at least of what I rashly supposed to be 
the inherent vices of civilized life. I longed for what I 
deemed must be the glorious independence of a savage. If 
I could but discover this Paradise beyond seas, of which the 
marquise raved so much ; if I only could find out that 
glorious land which neither knew secret intrigues nor con- 
spiracies, — I should leave France forever, taking any con- 
dition, or braving any mischances fate might have in store 
for me. 

There was something peculiarly offensive in the treatment 
I had met with. Imprisoned on suspicion, I was liberated 
without any amende , — neither punished like a guilty man, 
nor absolved as an innocent one. I was sent out upon the 
world as though the State would not own nor acknowledge 
me, — a dangerous practice, as I often thought, if only 
adopted on a large scale. It was some days before I could 
summon resolution to ascertain exactly my position ; at last 
I did muster up courage, and under pretence of wishing to 
address a letter to myself, I applied at the Ministry of War 
for the address of Lieutenant Tiernay of the Ninth Hussars. 
I was one of a large crowd similarly engaged, — some in- 
quiring for sons that had fallen in battle, or husbands or 

31 


482 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


fathers in far-away countries. The office was only open 
each morning for two hours, and consequently as the expira- 
tion of the time drew nigh the eagerness of the inquirers 
became far greater, and the contrast with the cold apathy of 
the clerks the more strongly marked. I had given way to 
many who were weaker than myself, and less able to buffet 
with the crowd about them ; and at last, when, wearied by 
waiting, I was drawing nigh the table, my attention was 
struck by an old, a very old man, who with a beard white as 
snow, and long mustaches of the same color, was making 
great efforts to gain the front rank. I stretched out my 
hand and caught his, and by considerable exertion at last 
succeeded in placing him in front of me. 

He thanked me fervently, in a strange kind of German, 
a patois I had never heard before, and kissed my hand three 
or four times over in his gratitude ; indeed, so absorbed was 
he for the time in his desire to thank me that I had to recall 
him to the more pressing reason of his presence, and warn 
him that but a few minutes more of the hour remained 
free. 

“ Speak up,” cried the clerk, as the old man muttered 
something in a low and very indistinct voice ; ‘ 4 speak up ! 
and remember, my friend, that we do not profess to give 
information further back than the times of Louis Quatorze.” 

This allusion to the years of the old man was loudly 
applauded by his colleagues, who drew nigh to stare at the 
cause of it. 

“ Sacre bleu! he is talking Hebrew,” said another, “ and 
asking for a friend who fell at Ramoth Gilead.” 

“He is speaking German,” said I, peremptorily, “and 
asking for a relative whom he believes to have embarked 
with the expedition to Egypt.” 

‘ 1 Are you a sworn interpreter, young man ? ” asked an 
older and more consequential-looking personage. 

I was about to return a hasty reply to this impertinence ; 
but I thought of the old man, and the few seconds that still 
remained for his inquiry, and I smothered my anger, and 
was silent. 

“What rank did he hold?” inquired one of the clerks, 
who had listened with rather more patience to the old man. 


THE VILLAGE OF SCHWARTZ-ACH. 


483 


I translated the question for the peasant, who in reply con- 
fessed that he could not tell. The youth was his only son, 
and had left home many years before, and never written. 
A neighbor however, who had travelled in foreign parts, had 
brought tidings that he had gone with the expedition to 
Egypt, and was already high in the French army. 

“You are not quite certain that he did not command the 
army of Egypt? ” said one of the clerks, in mockery of the 
old man’s story. 

“ It is not unlikely,” said the peasant, gravely; “ he was 
a brave and a bold youth, and could have lifted two such as 
you with one hand, and hurled you out of that window.” 

“Let us hear his name once more,” said the elder clerk; 
“it is worth remembering.” 

“ I have told you already. It was Karl Kleber.” 

“ The General — General Kleber ! ” cried three or four in 
a breath. 

“ Mayhap,” was all the reply. 

“ And are you the father of the great general of Egypt? ” 
asked the elder with an air of deep respect. 

“Kleber is my son; and so that he is alive and well, I 
care little if a general or simple soldier.” 

Not a word was said in answer to this speech, and each 
seemed to feel reluctant to tell the sad tidings. At last the 
elder clerk said, “ You have lost a good son, and France one 
of her greatest captains. The General Kleber is dead.” 

“ Dead ! ” said the old man, slowly. 

“ In the very moment of his greatest glory, too, when he 
had won the country of the Pyramids, and made Egypt a 
colony of France.” 

“When did he die?” said the peasant. 

“ The last accounts from the East brought the news ; and 
this very day the Council of State has accorded a pension to 
his family of ten thousand livres.” 

“They may keep their money. I am all that remains, 
and have no want of it ; and I should be poorer still before 
I’d take it.” 

These words he uttered in a low, harsh tone, and pushed 
his way back through the crowd. 

One moment more was enough for my inquiry. 


484 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“Maurice Tiernay, of the Ninth? — destitue” was the 
short and stunning answer I received. 

“Is there any reason alleged, — is there any charge 
imputed to him?” asked I, timidly. 

“ Ma foi ! you must go to the Minister of War with that 
question. Perhaps he was paymaster, and embezzled the 
funds of the regiment ; perhaps he liked Royalist gold better 
than Republican silver ; or perhaps he preferred the company 
of the baggage-train and the ambulances when he should 
have been at the head of his squadron.” 

I did not care to listen longer to this impertinence, and 
making my way out I gained the street. The old peasant 
was still standing there, like one stunned and overwhelmed 
by some great shock, and neither heeding the crowd that 
passed nor the groups that halted occasionally to stare at 
him. 

“Come along with me,” said I, taking his hand in mine. 
“Your calamity is a heavy one, but mine is harder to bear 
up against.” 

He suffered himself to be led away like a child, and never 
spoke a word as we walked along towards the barriere , 
beyond which, at a short distance, was a little ordinary, 
where I used to dine. There we had our dinner together ; 
and as the evening wore on, the old man rallied enough to 
tell me of his son’s early life and his departure for the army. 
Of his great career I could speak freely, for Kleber’s name 
was, in soldier esteem, scarcely second to that of Bonaparte 
himself. Not all the praises I could bestow, however, were 
sufficient to turn the old man from his stern conviction that 
a peasant in the Lech Thai was a more noble and indepen- 
dent man than the greatest general that ever marched to 
victory. 

“We have been some centuries there,” said he, “and 
none of our name has incurred a shadow of disgrace. Why 
should not Karl have lived like his ancestors?” 

It was useless to appeal to the glory his son had gained, 
the noble reputation he had left behind him. The peasant 
saw in the soldier but one who hired out his courage and his 
blood, and deemed the calling a low and unworthy one. I 
suppose I was not the first who in the effort to convince 


THE VILLAGE OF SCHWARTZ-ACH.’ 


485 


another found himself shaken in his own convictions ; for I 
own before I lay down that night many of the old man’s 
arguments assumed a force and power that I could not resist, 
and held possession of my mind even after I fell asleep. In 
my dreams I was once more beside the American lake, and 
that little colony of simple people where I had seen all that 
was best of my life, and learned the few lessons I had ever 
received of charity and good nature. 

From what the peasant said, the primitive habits of the 
Lech Thai must be almost like those of that little colony; 
and I willingly assented to his offer to accompany him in his 
journey homeward. He seemed to feel a kind of satisfaction 
in turning my thoughts away from a career that he held so 
cheaply, and talked enthusiastically of the tranquil life of the 
Bregenz er- wald . 

We left Paris the following morning, and partly by dili- 
gence, partly on foot, reached Strasbourg in a few days ; 
thence we proceeded by Kehl to Freyburg, and crossing the 
Lake of Constance at Rorsbach, we entered the Bregenz er- 
wald on the twelfth morning of our journey. 

I suppose that most men preserve fresher memory of the 
stirring and turbulent scenes of their lives than of the more 
peaceful and tranquil ones, and I shall not be deemed singu- 
lar when I say that some years passed over me iu this quiet 
spot, and seemed as but a few weeks. The old peasant was 
the Vorsteher, or ruler of the village, by whom all disputes 
were settled, and all litigation of an humble kind decided, — 
a species of voluntary jurisdiction maintained to this very 
day in that primitive region. My occupation there was as a 
species of secretary to the court, — an office quite new to the 
villagers, but which served to impress them more reverentially 
than ever in favor of this rude justice. My legal duties over, 
I became a vine-dresser, a wood-cutter, or a deer-stalker, as 
season and weather dictated, — my evenings being always 
devoted to the task of a schoolmaster. A curious seminary 
was it, too, embracing every class from childhood to advanced 
age, all eager for knowledge, and all submitting to the most 
patient discipline to attain it. There was much to make me 
happy in that humble lot. I had the love and esteem of all 
around me ; there was neither a harassing doubt for the 


486 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


future, nor the rich man’s contumely to oppress me ; my life 
was made up of occupations which alternately engaged mind 
and body ; and, above all and worth all besides, I had a 
sense of duty, a feeling that I was doing that which was 
useful to my fellow-men; and however great may be a 
man’s station in life, if it want this element, the humblest 
peasant that rises to his daily toil has a nobler and a better 
part. 

As I trace these lines, how many memories of the spot are 
rising before me, — scenes I had long forgotten, faces I had 
ceased to remember! And now I see the little wooden 
bridge, — a giant tree, guarded by a single rail, that crossed 
the torrent in front of our cottage ; and I behold once more 
the little waxen image of the Virgin over the door, in whose 
glass shrine at nightfall a candle ever burned ; and I hear 
the low hum of the villager’s prayer as the Angelus is ring- 
ing, and see on every crag or cliff the homebound hunter 
kneeling in his deep devotion! 

Happy people, and not less good than happy ! Your bold 
and barren mountains have been the safeguard of your 
virtue and your innocence. Long may they prove so, and 
long may the waves of the world’s ambition be stayed at 
their rocky feet! 

I was beginning to forget all that I had seen of life, or, if 
not forget, at least to regard it as a wild and troubled dream, 
when an accident — one of those things we always regard as 
the merest chances — once more opened the flood-gates of 
memory, and sent the whole past in a strong current through 
my brain. 

In this mountain region the transition from winter to sum- 
mer is effected in a few days. Some hours of a scorching 
sun and south wind swell the torrents with melted snow ; the 
icebergs fall thundering from cliff and crag, and the sporting 
waterfall once more dashes over the prfecipice. The trees 
burst into leaf, and the grass springs up green and fresh 
from its wintry covering ; and from the dreary aspect of 
snow-capped hills and leaden clouds, Nature changes to 
fertile plains and hills, and a sky of almost unbroken blue. 

It was of a glorious evening in April, when all these 
changes were passing, that I was descending the mountain 


THE VILLAGE OF SCHWARTZ-ACH. J 


487 


above our village after a hard day’s chamois hunting. Anx- 
ious to reach the plain before nightfall, I could not, how- 
ever, help stopping from time to time to watch the golden 
and ruby tints of the sun upon the snow, or see the turquoise 
blue which occasionally marked the course of a rivulet 
through the glaciers. The Alp-horn was sounding from 
every cliff and height, and the lowing of the cattle swelled 
into a rich and mellow chorus. It was a beautiful picture, 
realizing in every tint and hue, in every sound and cadence, 
all that one can fancy of romantic’ simplicity ; and I surveyed 
it with a swelling and a grateful heart. 

As I turned to resume my way, I was struck by the sound 
of voices speaking, as I fancied, in French ; and before I 
could settle the doubt with myself, I saw in front of me a 
party of some six or seven soldiers, who, with their muskets 
slung behind them, were descending the steep path by the 
aid of sticks. 

Weary -looking and foot-sore as they were, their dress, 
their bearing, and their soldierlike air struck me forcibly, 
and sent into my heart a thrill I had not known for many a 
day before. I came up quickly behind them, and could 
overhear their complaints at having mistaken the road, and 
their maledictions, uttered in no gentle spirit, on the stupid 
mountaineers who could not understand French. 

“ Here comes another fellow, let us try him,” said one, as 
he turned and saw me near. “ Schwartz- Ach, Schwartz- 
Ach,” added he, addressing me, and reading the name from 
a slip of paper in his hand. 

“Iam going to the village,” said I in French, “ and will 
show the way with pleasure.” 

“How! what! are you a Frenchman, then?” cried the 
corporal, in amazement. 

“ Even so,” said I. 

“Then by what chance are you living in this wild spot? 
How, in the name of wonder, can you exist here ? ” 

“With venison like this,” said I, pointing to a chamois 
buck on my shoulder, “ and the red wine of the Lech Thai, 
a man may manage to forget Veray’s and the Dragon Vert, 
particularly as they are not associated with a bill and a 
waiter.” 


488 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“And perhaps you are a Royalist/’ cried another, “and 
don’t like how matters are going on at home ? ” 

“ I have not that excuse for my exile,” said I, coldly. 

“ Have you served then?” 

I nodded. 

“Ah, I see,” said the corporal, “you grew weary of 
parade and guard mounting.” 

“If you mean that I deserted,” said I, “you are wrong 
there also ; and now let it be my turn to ask a few questions. 
What is France about? Is the Republic still as great and 
victorious as ever?” 

“ Sacre bleu , man, what are you thinking of? We are an 
Empire some years back, and Napoleon has made as many 
kings as he has got brothers and cousins to crown.” 

“ And the army, where is it? ” 

“ Ask for some half-dozen armies, and you ’ll still be short 
of the mark. We have one in Hamburg, and another in the 
far North, holding the Russians in check ; we have garrisons 
in every fortress of Prussia and the Rhine-land ; we have 
some eighty thousand fellows in Poland and Galicia, double 
as many more in Spain ; Italy is our own, and so will be 
Austria ere many days go over.” 

Boastfully as all this was spoken, I found it to be not far 
from truth, and learned, as we walked along, that the 
Emperor was at that very moment on the march to meet 
the Archduke Charles, who with a numerous army was 
advancing on Ratisbon, the little party of soldiers being 
portion of a force despatched to explore the passes of the 
Vorarlberg, and report on how far they might be prac- 
ticable for the transmission of troops to act on the left flank 
and rear of the Austrian army. Their success had up to 
this time been very slight, and the corporal was making for 
Schwartz-Ach, as a spot where he hoped to rendezvous with 
some of his comrades. They were much disappointed on 
my telling them that I had quitted the village that morning, 
and that not a soldier had been seen there. There was, 
however, no other spot to pass the night in, and they will- 
ingly accepted the offer I made them of a shelter and a 
supper in our cottage. 


CHAPTER XL VIII. 


“A VILLAGE SYNDICUS.” 

I sat up all night listening to the soldiers’ stories of war and 
campaigning. Some had served with Soult’s army in the 
Asturias ; some made part of Davoust’s corps in the north of 
Europe ; one had just returned from Friedland, and amused 
us with describing the celebrated conference at Tilsit, where 
he had been a sentinel on the river side, and presented arms 
to the two emperors as they passed. It will seem strange, 
but it is a fact that this slight incident attracted towards him 
a greater share of his comrades’ admiration than was accorded 
to those who had seen half the battle-fields of modern war. 
He described the dress, the air, the general bearing of the 
emperors, — remarking that although Alexander was taller 
and handsomer, and even more soldier-like than our own 
emperor, there was a something of calm dignity and conscious 
majesty in Napoleon that made him appear immeasurably 
the superior. Alexander wore the unjform of the Russian 
guard, one of the most splendid it is possible to conceive. 
The only thing simple about him was his sword, which was a 
plain sabre with a tarnished gilt scabbard and a very dirty 
sword-knot ; and yet every moment he used to look down at 
it and handle it with great apparent admiration. “ And well 
might he,” added the soldier, — “ Napoleon had given it to 
him but the day before.” 

To listen even to such meagre details as these was to light 
up again in my heart the fire that was only smouldering, 
and that no life of peasant labor or obscurity could ever 
extinguish. My companions quickly saw the interest I took 
in their narratives, and certainly did their utmost to feed 
the passion, — now with some sketch of a Spanish marauding 


490 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


party, as full of adventure as a romance ; now with a de- 
scription of northern warfare, where artillery thundered on 
the ice, and men fought behind intrenchments of deep 
snow. 

From the North Sea to the Adriatic, all Europe was now 
in arms. Great armies were marching in every direction, — 
some along the deep valley of the Danube, others from the 
rich plains of Poland and Silesia ; some were passing the 
Alps into Italy, and some again were pouring down for 
the Tyrol Jochs, to defend the rocky passes of their native 
land against the invader. Patriotism and glory, the spirit of 
chivalry and conquest, all were abroad, and his must indeed 
have been a cold heart which could find within it no response 
to the stirring sounds around. To the intense feeling of 
shame which I at first felt at my own life of obscure inactiv- 
ity, there now succeeded a feverish desire to be somewhere 
and do something to dispel this worse than lethargy. I had 
not resolution to tell my comrades that I had served ; I felt 
reluctant to speak of a career so abortive and unsuccessful ; 
and yet I blushed at the half-pitying expressions they be- 
stowed upon my life of inglorious adventure. 

“ You risk life and limb here in these pine-forests, and 
hazard existence for a bear or a chamois goat,” cried one ; 
“ and half the peril in real war would perhaps make you a 
chef d’escadron or even a general.” 

“ Ay,” said another, “we serve in an army where crowns 
are military distinctions, and the epaulette is only the first 
step to a kingdom.” 

“True,” broke in a third, “Napoleon has changed the 
whole world, and made soldiering the only trade worth 
following. Massena was a drummer-boy within my own 
memory, and see him now! Ney was not born to great 
wealth and honors. Junot never could learn his trade as 
a cobbler, and for want of better has become a general of 
division.” 

“Yes; and,” said I, following out the theme, “under 
that wooden roof yonder, through that little diamond-paned 
window the vine is trained across, a greater than any of the 
last three first saw the light. It was there Kleber, the con- 
queror of Egypt, was born.” 


A VILLAGE SYNDICUS. 


491 


“ Honor to the brave dead! ” said the soldiers from their 
places around the fire, and carrying their hands to the 
salute. 

“We ’ll fire a salvo to him to-morrow before we set out ! ” 
said the corporal. “ And so Kleber was born there ! ” said 
he, resuming his place, and staring with admiring interest at 
the dark outline of the old house, as it stood out against the 
starry and cloudless sky. 

It was somewhat of a delicate task for me to prevent my 
companions offering their tribute of respect, but which the 
old peasant would have received with little gratitude, seeing 
that he had never yet forgiven the country nor the service 
for the loss of his son. With some management I accom- 
plished this duty, however, promising my services at the 
same time to be their guide through the Bregenzer-wald, 
and not to part with them till I had seen them safely into 
Bavaria. 

Had it not been for my thorough acquaintance with the 
Tyroler dialect and all the usages of Tyrol life, their march 
would have been one of great peril; for already the old 
hatred against their Bavarian oppressors was beginning to 
stir the land, and Austrian agents were traversing the moun- 
tain districts in every direction to call forth that patriotic 
ardor which, ill-requited as it has been, has more than once 
come to the rescue of Austria. 

So sudden had been the outbreak of this war, and so little 
aware were the peasantry of the frontier of either its object 
or aim, that we frequently passed recruits for both armies on 
their way to headquarters on the same day, — honest Bava- 
rians, who were trudging along the road with pack on then- 
shoulders, and not knowing, nor indeed much caring, on 
which side they were to combat. My French comrades 
scorned to report themselves to any (German officer, and 
pushed on vigorously in the hope of meeting with a French 
regiment. I had now conducted my little party to Im- 
menstadt, at the foot of the Bavarian Alps; and, having 
completed my compact, was about to bid them good-by. 

We were seated around our bivouac fire for the last time, 
as we deemed it, and pledging each other in a parting glass, 


492 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


when suddenly our attention was attracted to a bright red 
tongue of flame that suddenly darted up from one of the 
Alpine summits above our head. Another and another 
followed, till at length every mountain peak for miles and 
miles away displayed a great signal fire ! Little knew we 
that behind that giant range of mountains, from the icy crags 
of the Grlockner and from the snowy summit of the Orteler 
itself, similar fires were summoning all Tyrol to the combat ; 
while every valley resounded with the war-cry of 4 4 God and 
the Emperor ! ” We were still in busy conjecture what all 
this might portend, when a small party of mounted men rode 
past us at a trot. They carried carbines slung over their 
peasant frocks, and showed unmistakably enough that they 
were some newly-raised and scarcely-disciplined force. After 
proceeding about a hundred yards beyond us, they halted, 
and drew up across the road, unslinging their pieces as if to 
prepare for action. 

44 Look at those fellows, yonder,” said the old corporal, as 
he puffed his pipe calmly and deliberately ; 4 4 they mean mis- 
chief, or I ’m much mistaken. Speak to them, Tiernay ; you 
know their jargon.” 

I accordingly arose and advanced towards them, touching 
my hat in salute as I went forward. They did not give me 
much time, however, to open negotiations, for scarcely had I 
uttered a word when bang went a shot close beside me; 
another followed, and then a whole volley was discharged, 
but with such haste and ill direction that not a ball struck 
me. Before I could take advantage of this piece of good 
fortune to renew my advances, a bullet whizzed by my head, 
and down went the left-hand horse of the file, — at first on 
his knees, and then, with a wild plunge into the air, he threw 
himself stone dead on the road, the rider beneath him. As 
for the rest, throwing off carbines and cartouche-boxes, they 
sprung from their horses, and took to the mountains with a 
speed that showed how far more they were at home amidst 
rocks and heather than when seated on the saddle. My 
comrades lost no time in coming up ; but while three of them 
kept the fugitives in sight, covering them all the time with 
their muskets, the others secured the cattle, as in amazement 
and terror they stood around the dead horse. 


“A VILLAGE SYNDICUS. J 


493 


Although the peasant had received no other injuries than 
a heavy fall and his own fears inflicted, he was overcome 
with terror, and so certain of death that he would do nothing 
but mumble his prayers, totally deaf to all the efforts I made 
to restore his courage. 

4 4 That comes of putting a man out of his natural bent,” 
said the old corporal. 44 On his native mountains, and with 
his rifle, that fellow would be brave enough ; but making a 
dragoon of him is like turning a Cossack into a foot soldier. 
One thing is clear enough, — we ’ve no time to throw away 
here ; these peasants will soon alarm the village in our rear, 
so that we had better mount and press forward.” 

44 But in what direction? ” cried another ; 44 who knows if 
we shall not be rushing into worse danger ? ” 

44 Tiernay must look to that,” interposed a third. “It’s 
clear he can’t leave us now; his retreat is cut off, at all 
events.” 

4 4 That’s the very point I was thinking of, lads,” said I. 
44 The beacon fires show that the 4 Tyrol is up,’ and safely as 
I have journeyed hither I know well I dare not venture to 
retrace my road ; I’d be shot in the first Dorf I entered. 
On one condition, then, I’ll join you; and short of that, 
however, I ’ll take my own path, come what may of it.” 

44 What’s the condition, then?” cried three or four 
together. 

44 That you give me the full and absolute command of this 
party, and pledge your honor, as French soldiers, to obey 
me in everything, till the day we arrive at the headquarters 
of a French corps.” 

4 4 What, obey a Pekin ! take the mot d’ordre from a civilian 
that never handled a firelock ! ” shouted three or four, in 
derision. 

44 1 have served, and with distinction, too, my lads,” said 
I, calmly ; 44 and if I have not handled a firelock, it is because 
I wielded a sabre as an officer of Hussars. It is not here nor 
now that I am going to tell why I wear the epaulette no 
longer. I’ll render account of that to my superiors and 
yours. If you reject my offer (and I don’t press you to ac- 
cept it) , let us at least part good friends. As for me, I can 
take care of myself.” As I said this, I slung over my 


494 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


shoulder the cross-belt and carbine of one of the fugitives, 
and selecting a strongly built, short-legged black horse as 
my mount, I adjusted the saddle, and sprung on his back. 

“That was done like an old hussar, anyhow/’ said a 
soldier, who had been a cavalry man, “ and I’ll follow you, 
whatever the rest may do.” He mounted as he spoke, and 
saluted as if on duty. 

Slight as the incident was, its effect was magical. Old 
habits of discipline revived at the first signal of obedience, 
and the corporal having made his men fall in, came up to my 
side for orders. 

“Select the best of these horses,” said I, “and let us 
press forward at once. We are about eighteen miles from 
the village of Wangheim ; by halting a short distance outside 
of it, I can enter alone, and learn something about the state 
of the country and the nearest French post. The cattle are 
all fresh, and we can easily reach the village before day- 
break.” 

Three of my little “ command” were tolerable horsemen, 
two of them having served in the artillery train, and the 
third being the dragoon I have alluded to. I accordingly 
threw out a couple of these as an advanced picket, keeping 
the last as my aide-de-camp at my side. The remainder 
formed the rear, — with orders, if attacked, to dismount at 
once, and fire over the saddle, leaving myself and the others 
to manoeuvre as cavalry. This was the only way to give 
confidence to those soldiers who in the ranks would have 
marched up to a battery, but on horseback were totally de- 
void of self-reliance. Meanwhile I imparted such instruc- 
tions in equitation as I could, my own old experience as a 
riding-master well enabling me to select the most necessary 
and least difficult of a horseman’s duties. Except the old 
corporal, all were very creditable pupils ; but he, possibly 
deeming it a point of honor not to discredit his old career, 
rejected everything like teaching, and openly protested that, 
save to run away from a victorious enemy or follow a beaten 
one, he saw no use in cavalry. 

Nothing could be in better temper, however, nor more 
amicable than our discourses on this head ; and as I let drop, 
from time to time, little hints of my services on the Rhine 


A VILLAGE SYNDICUS/ 


495 


and in Italy, I gradually perceived that I grew higher in the 
esteem of my companions, so that ere we rode a dozen miles 
together their confidence in me became complete. 

In return for all their anecdotes of “blood and field,” I 
told them several stories of my own life, and at least con- 
vinced them that if they had not chanced upon the very 
luckiest of mankind, they had at least fallen upon one who 
had seen enough of casualties not to be easily baffled, and 
who felt in every difficulty a self-confidence that no amount 
of discomfiture could ever entirely obliterate. No soldier can 
vie with a Frenchman in tempering respect with familiarity ; 
so that while preserving towards me all the freedom of the 
comrade, they recognized in every detail of duty the neces- 
sity of prompt obedience, and followed every command I 
gave with implicit submission. 

It was thus we rode along, till in the distance I saw the 
spire of a village church, and recognized what I knew to be 
Dorf Wangheim. It was yet an hour before sunrise, and all 
was tranquil around. I gave the word to trot, and after 
about forty minutes’ sharp riding we gained a small pine- 
wood which skirted the village. Here I dismounted my 
party, and prepared to make my entree alone into the Dorf, 
carefully arranging my costume for that purpose, sticking a 
large bouquet of wild-flowers in my hat, and assuming as 
much as I could of the Tyrol look and lounge in my gait. I 
shortened my stirrups, also, to a most awkward and incon- 
venient length, and gripped my reins into a heap in my hand. 

It was thus I rode into Wangheim, saluting the people as 
I passed up the street, and with the short dry greeting of 
“Tag,” and a nod as brief, playing Tyroler to the top of 
my bent. The Syndicus, or the ruler of the village, lived in 
a good-sized house in the Platz, which, being market-day, 
was crowded with people, although the articles for sale 
appeared to include little variety, — almost every one leading 
a calf t)y a straw rope, the rest of the population contenting 
themselves with a wild turkey, or sometimes two, which, 
held under the arms, added the most singular element to the 
general concert of human voices around. Little stalls for 
rustic jewellery and artificial flowers, the latter in great 
request, ran along the sides of the square, with here and 


496 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


there a booth where skins and furs were displayed, more, 
however, as it appeared, to give pleasure to a group of sturdy 
jagers, who stood around recognizing the track of their own 
bullets, than from any hope of sale. In fact, the business 
of the day was dull, and an experienced eye would have 
seen at a glance that turkeys were “heavy,” and calves 
“looking down.” No wonder that it should be so, — the 
interest of the scene being concentrated on a little knot of 
some twenty youths, who, with tickets containing a number 
in their hats, stood before the Syndic’s door. They were 
fine-looking, stalwart, straight fellows, and became admir- 
ably the manly costume of their native mountains ; but their 
countenances were not without an expression of sadness, the 
reflection, as I soon saw, of the sadder faces around them. 
For so they stood, mothers, sisters, and sweethearts, their 
tearful eyes turned on the little band. 

It puzzled me not a little at first to see these evidences of 
a conscription in a land where hitherto the population had 
answered the call to arms by a levy en viatise, while the air 
of depression and sadness seemed also strange in those who 
gloried in the excitement of war. The first few sentences I 
overheard revealed the mystery. Wangheim was Bavarian; 
although strictly a Tyrol village, and Austrian Tyrol too, it 
had been included within the Bavarian frontier, and the 
orders had arrived from Munich at the Syndicate to furnish 
a certain number of men by a certain day. This was terrible 
tidings ; for although they did not as yet know that the war 
was against ' Austria, they had heard that the troops were 
for foreign service, and not for the defence of home and 
country, the only cause which a Tyroler deems worthy of 
battle. As I listened, I gathered that the most complete 
ignorance prevailed as to the service or the destination to 
which they were intended. The Bavarians had merely issued 
their mandates to the various villages of the border, and 
neither sent emissaries nor officers to carry them out. Hav- 
ing seen how the “ land lay,” I pushed my way through the 
crowd into the hall of the Syndicate, and by dint of a strong 
will and stout shoulder at length gained the audience 
chamber, where, seated behind an elevated bench, the great 
man was dispensing justice. I advanced boldly and de- 


“A VILLAGE SYNDICUS.’ 


497 


manded an immediate audience in private, stating that my 
business was most pressing and not admitting of delay. The 
Syndic consulted for a second or two with his clerk, and 
retired, beckoning me to follow. 

“You’re not a Tyroler,” said he to me, the moment we 
were alone. 

“ That is easy to see, Herr Syndicus,” replied I. “I’m 
an officer of the staff in disguise, sent to make a hasty in- 
spection of the frontier villages and report upon the state of 
feeling that prevails amongst them, and how they stand 
affected towards the cause of Bavaria.” 

“And what have you found, sir?” said he, with native 
caution; for a Bavarian Tyroler has the quality in a per- 
fection that neither a Scotchman nor a Russian can pretend 
to. 

“ Th'at you are all Austrian at heart,” said I, determined 
to dash at him with a frankness that I knew he could not 
resist. “ There ’s not a Bavarian amongst you. I have 
made the whole tour of the Vorarlberg, through the Bregen- 
zer-wald down the valley of the Lech, by Immenstadt, and 
Wangheim; and it’s all the same. I have heard nothing but 
the old cry of 4 Gott und der Kaiser ! ’ ” 

“Indeed!” said he, with an accent beautifully balanced 
between sorrow and astonishment. 

“Even the men in authority, the Syndics like yourself, 
have frankly told me how difficult it is to preserve allegiance 
to a government by whom they have been so harshly treated. 
I ’m sure I have the 4 grain question,’ as they call it, and the 
4 Frei wechsel ’ with South Tyrol, off by heart,” said I, 
laughing. “However, my business lies in another quarter. 
I have seen enough to show me that, save the outcasts from 
home and family, that class so rare in the Tyrol, that men 
call adventurers, we need look for no willing recruits here ; 
and you ’ll stare when I say that I ’m glad of it, heartily glad 
of it.” 

The Syndic did indeed stare, but he never ventured a 
word in reply. 

44 1 ’ll tell you why, then, Herr Syndicus. With a man 
like yourself one can afford to be open-hearted. Wangheim, 
Luttrich, Kempenfeld, and all the other villages at the foot 

32 


498 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


of these mountains were never other than Austrian. Diplo- 
matists and map-makers colored them pale blue, but they 
were black and yellow underneath ; and what ’s more to the 
purpose, Austrian they must become again. When the real 
object of this war is known, all Tyrol will declare for the 
House of Hapsburg. We begin to perceive this ourselves, 
and to dread the misfortunes and calamities that must fall 
upon you and the other frontier towns by this divided allegi- 
ance ; for when you have sent off your available youth to the 
Bavarians, down will come Austria to revenge itself upon 
your undefended towns and villages. , ’ 

The Syndic apparently had thought of all these things 
exactly with the same conclusions, for he shook his head 
gravely, and uttered a low, faint sigh. 

“I’m so convinced of what I tell you,” said I, “ that no 
sooner have I conducted to headquarters the force I have 
under my command — ” 

“You have a force, then, actually under your orders?” 
cried he, starting. 

“ The advanced guard is picketed in yonder pine-wood, if 
you have any curiosity to inspect them ; you ’ll find them a 
little disorderly, perhaps, like all newly-raised levies, but I 
hope not discreditable allies for the great army.” 

The Syndic protested his sense of the favor, but begged to 
take all their good qualities on trust. 

I then went on to assure him that I should recommend the 
Government to permit the range of frontier towns to pre- 
serve a complete neutrality ; by scarcely any possibility could 
the war come to their doors ; and that there was neither 
sound policy nor humanity in sending them to seek it else- 
where. I will not stop to recount all the arguments I em- 
ployed to enforce my opinions, nor how learnedly I discussed 
every question of European politics. The Syndic was 
amazed at the vast range of my acquirements, and could not 
help confessing it. 

My interview ended by persuading him not to send on his 
levies of men till he had received further instructions from 
Munich ; to supply my advanced guards with the rations and 
allowances intended for the others ; and lastly, to advance 
me the sum of one hundred and seventy crown thalers, on 


“A VILLAGE SYNDICUS . 1 


499 


the express pledge that the main body of my “ marauders,” 
as I took opportunity to style them, should take the road by 
Kempen and Durcheim, and not to touch on the village of 
Wangheim at all. 

When discussing the last point, I declared to the Syndic 
that he was depriving himself of a very imposing sight; 
that the men, whatever might be said of them in point of 
character, were a fine-looking, daring set of rascals, neither 
respecting laws nor fearing punishment, and that our band, 
for a newly-formed one, was by no means contemptible. He 
resisted all these seducing prospects, and counted down his 
dollars with the air of a man who felt he had made a good 
bargain. I gave him a receipt in all form, and signed 
Maurice Tiernay at the foot of it as stoutly as though I had 
the Grand Livre de France at my back. 

Let not the reader rashly condemn me for this fault, nor 
still more rashly conclude that I acted with a heartless and 
unprincipled spirit in this transaction. I own that a species 
of Jesuitry suggested the scheme, and that while providing 
for the exigencies of my own comrades I satisfied my con- 
science by rendering a good service in return. The course of 
war, as I suspected it would, did sweep past this portion of 
the Bavarian Tyrol without inflicting any heavy loss. Such 
of the peasantry as joined the army fought under Austrian 
banners, and Wangheim and the other border villages had 
not to pay the bloody penalty of a divided allegiance. I 
may add, too, for conscience’ sake, that while travelling this 
way many years after, I stopped a day at Wangheim to point 
out its picturesque scenery to a fair friend who accompanied 
me. The village inn was kept by an old, venerable-looking 
man, who also discharged the functions of Vorsteher, — the 
title Syndicus was abolished. He was, although a little cold 
and reserved at first, very communicative after a while, and 
full of stories of the old campaigns of France and Austria, — 
amongst which he related one of a certain set of French free- 
booters that once passed through Wangheim, the Captain 
having actually breakfasted with himself, and persuaded him 
to advance a loan of nigh two hundred thalers on the faith 
of the Bavarian Government. 

“ He was a good-looking, dashing sort of fellow,” said he, 


500 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ that could sing French love-songs to the piano, and jodle 
4 Tyroler Lieder ’ for the women. My daughter took a great 
fancy to him, and wore his sword-knot for many a day after, 
till we found that he had cheated and betrayed us. Even 
then, however, I don’t think she gave him up, though she did 
not speak of him as before. This is the fellow’s writing,” 
added he, producing a much-worn and much-crumpled scrap 
of paper from his old pocket-book, 44 and there’s his name. 
I have never been able to make out clearly whether it was 
Thierray or Lierray.” 

“I know something about him,” said I, “ and with your 
permission will keep the document and pay the debt. Your 
daughter is alive still ? ” 

44 Ay, and married, too, at Brack, ten miles from this.” 

44 Well, if she has thrown away the old sword-knot, tell 
her to accept this one in memory of the French Captain, who 
was not at least an ungrateful rogue ; ” and I detached from 
my sabre the rich gold tassel and cord which I wore as a 
general officer. 

This little incident I may be pardoned for interpolating 
from a portion of my life, of which I do not intend to speak 
further, as with the career of the Soldier of Fortune I mean 
to close these memoirs of Maurice Tiernay. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 


U A LUCKY MEETING.” 

The reader will probably not complain if, passing over the 
manifold adventures and hair-breadth ’scapes of my little 
party, I come to our arrival at Ingoldstadt, where the head- 
quarters of General Vandamme were stationed. It was just 
as the recall was beating that we rode into the town, where, 
although nearly eight thousand men were assembled, our 
somewhat singular cavalcade attracted no small share of 
notice. Fresh rations for “man and beast” slung around 
our very ragged clothing, and four Austrian grenadiers tied 
by a cord, wrist to wrist, as prisoners behind us, we pre- 
sented, it must be owned, a far more picturesque than 
soldier-like party. 

Accepting all the attentions bestowed upon us in the most 
flattering sense, and affecting not to perceive the ridicule we 
were exciting on every hand, I rode up to the Etat Major 
and dismounted. I had obtained from my prisoners what 
I deemed a very important secret, and was resolved to make 
the most of it by asking for an immediate audience of the 
general. 

“Iam the Officier d’Ordonnance,” said a young lieutenant 
of dragoons, stepping forward; “any communications you 
have to make must be addressed to me.” 

“ I have taken four prisoners, Monsieur le Lieutenant,” 
said I, “ and would wish to inform General Vandamme on 
certain matters they have revealed to me.” 

“ Are you in the service?” asked he, with a glance at my 
incongruous equipment. 

“ I have served, sir,” was my reply. 

“ In what army of brigands was it, then? ” said he, laugh- 
ing, “ for, assuredly, you do not recall to my recollection 
any European force that I know of.” 


502 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


44 I may find leisure and inclination to give you the fullest 
information on this point at another moment, sir; for the 
present, my business is more pressing. Can I see General 
Vandamme? ” 

“Of course you cannot, my worthy fellow! If you had 
served, as you say you have, you could scarcely have made 
so absurd a request. A French general of division does not 
give audience to every tatterdemalion who picks up a prisoner 
on the high road.” 

“It is exactly because I have served that I do make the 
request,” said I, stoutly. 

“ How so, pray? ” asked he, staring at me. 

“Because I knew well how often young staff-officers, in 
their self-sufficiency, overlook the most important points, and 
from the humble character of their informants frequently 
despise what their superiors, had they known it, would have 
largely profited by. And even if I did not know this fact, 
I have the memory of another one scarcely less striking, 
which was that General Massena himself admitted me to an 
audience when my appearance was not a whit more imposing 
than at present.” 

“ You knew General Massena, then? Where was it, may 
I ask?” 

“ In Genoa, during the siege.” 

4 4 And what regiment have you served in ? ” 

44 The Ninth Hussars.” 

44 Quite enough, my good fellow. The Ninth were on the 
Sambre while that siege was going on,” said he, laughing 
sarcastically. 

44 1 never said that my regiment was at Genoa. I only 
asserted that I was,” was my calm reply ; for I was anxious 
to prolong the conversation, seeing that directly over our 
heads, on a balcony, a number of officers had just come out 
to smoke their cigars after dinner, amongst whom I recog- 
nized two or three in the uniform of generals. 

“And now for your name; let us have that,” said he, 
seating himself, as if for a lengthy cross-examination. 

I stole a quick glance overhead, and seeing that two of 
the officers were eagerly listening to our colloquy, said 
aloud, — 


A LUCKY MEETING.’ 


503 


“ I’ll tell you no more, sir. l'ouhave already heard quite 
enough to know what my business is. I did n’t come here to 
relate my life and adventures.” 

“ I say, Lestocque,” cried a large, burly man from above, 
“ have you picked up Robinson Crusoe, there? ” 

“ He’s far more like the man Friday, mon General” said 
the young lieutenant, laughing, “although even a savage 
might have more deference for his superiors.” 

“ What does he want, then?” asked the other. 

“ An audience of yourself, mon General , — nothing less.” 

“Have you told him how I am accustomed to reward 
people who occupy my time on false pretences, Lestocque ? ” 
said the General, with -a grin. “Does he know that the 
Salle de Police first, and the Prevot afterwards, comprise my 
gratitude ? ” 

‘ 4 He presumes to say, sir, that he knows General Mas- 
sena,” said the lieutenant. 

“ Diable! He knows me, does he say — he knows me? 
Who is he — what is he ? ” said a voice I well remembered, 
and at the same instant the brown, dark visage of General 
Massena peered over the balcony. 

“ He ’s a countryman of yours, Massena,” said Yandamme, 
laughing. “ Eh, are you not a Piedmontais ? ” 

Up to this moment I had stood silently listening to the 
dialogue around me, without the slightest apparent sign of 
noticing it. Now, however, as I was directly addressed, I 
drew myself up to a soldier-like attitude, and replied, — 

“No, sir. I am more a Frenchman than General Van- 
damme, at least.” 

“Send that fellow here; send him up, Lestocque, and 
have a corporal’s party ready for duty,” cried the general, 
as he threw the end of his cigar into the street, and walked 
hastily away. 

It was not the first time in my life that my tongue had 
brought peril on my head ; but I ascended the stairs with a 
firm step, and if not with a light, at least with a resolute, 
heart, seeing how wonderfully little I had to lose, and that 
few men had a smaller stake in existence than myself. 

The voices were loud, and in tones of anger, as I stepped 
out upon the terrace. 


504 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


“ So we are acquaintances, it would appear, my friend?” 
said Massena, as he stared fixedly at me. 

“ If General Massena cannot recall the occasion of our 
meeting,” said I, proudly, “I’ll scarcely remind him of 
it.” 

“ Come, come,” said Vandamme, angrily, “ I must deal 
with this gaillard myself. Are you a French soldier?” 

“ I was, sir; an officer of cavalry.” 

“ And were you broke, did you desert, or what was it?” 
cried he, impatiently. 

“ I kept better company than I believe is considered safe 
in these days, and was accidentally admitted to the acquain- 
tance of the Prince de Conde — ” 

“That’s it!” said Vandamme, with a long whistle; 
“that’s the mischief, then. You are a Vendean?” 

“No, sir; I was never a Royalist, although, as I have 
said, exposed to the very society whose fascinations might 
have made me one.” 

“ Your name is Tiernay, Monsieur, or I mistake much? ” 
said a smart-looking young man in civilian dress. 

I bowed an assent, without expressing any sentiment of 
either fear or anxiety. 

“I can vouch for the perfect accuracy of that gentle- 
man’s narrative,” said Monsieur de Bourrienne, for I 
now saw it was himself. “You may possibly remember 
a visitor — ” 

“At the Temple,” said I, interrupting him. “I recollect 
you perfectly, sir, and thank you for this recognition.” 

Monsieur de Bourrienne, however, did not pay much 
attention to my gratitude, but proceeded, in a few hurried 
words, to give some account of me to the bystanders. 

“ Well, it must be owned that he looks devilish unlike an 
officer of hussars,” said Massena, as he laughed, and made 
others laugh, at my strange equipment. 

“ And yet you saw me in a worse plight, General,” said I, 
coolly. 

“ How so — where was that? ” cried he. 

“It will be a sore wound to my pride, General,” said I, 
slowly, “ if I must refresh your memory.” 

“ You were not at Valenciennes,” said he, musing. “ No, 


A LUCKY MEETING . 1 


505 


no; that was before your day. Were you on the Meuse, 
then? No. Nor in Spain? I ’ye always had hussars in my 
division ; but I confess I do not remember all the officers.” 

“Will Genoa not give the clew, sir?” said I, glancing at 
him a keen look. 

“ Least of all,” cried he. “ The cavalry were with Soult. 
I had nothing beyond an escort in the town.” 

“So there’s no help for it,” said I, with a sigh. “Do 
you remember a half-drowned wretch that was laid down at 
your feet in the Annunziata Church one morning during the 
siege?” 

“A fellow who had made his escape from the English 
fleet, and swam ashore? What! are you — By Jove! so it 
is, the very same. Give me your hand, my brave fellow ! 
I ’ve often thought of you, and wondered what had befallen 
you. You joined that unlucky attack on Monte Faccio ; and 
we had warm work ourselves on hand the day after. I say, 
Vandamme, the first news I had of our columns crossing the 
Alps were from this officer, — for officer he was, and shall 
be again, if I live to command a French division.” 

Massena embraced me affectionately, as he said this ; and 
then turning to the others, said, — 

4 4 Gentlemen, you see before you the man you have often 
heard me speak of, — a young officer of hussars, who in the 
hope of rescuing a division of the French army, at that time 
shut up in a besieged city, performed one of the most gallant 
exploits on record. Within a week after, he led a storming 
party against a mountain fortress ; and I don’t care if he 
lived in the intimacy of every Bourbon prince, from the 
Count d’ Artois downwards, he ’s a good Frenchman and a 
brave soldier. Bourrienne, you’re starting for headquarters? 
Well, it is not at such a moment as this you can bear these 
matters in mind, but don’t forget my friend Tiernay ; de- 
pend upon it he ’ll do you no discredit. The Emperor knows 
well both how to employ and how to reward such men as 
he is.” 

I heard these flattering speeches like one in a delicious 
dream. To stand in the midst of a distinguished group 
while Massena thus spoke of me seemed too much for 
reality, for praise had indeed become a rare accident to me ; 


506 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


but from such a quarter it was less eulogy than fame. How 
hard was it to persuade myself that I was awake, as I found 
myself seated at the table with a crowd of officers, pledging 
the toasts they gave, and drinking bumpers in friendly 
recognition with all around me. 

Such was the curiosity to hear my story that numbers of 
others crowded into the room, which gradually assumed the 
appearance of a theatre. There was scarcely an incident to 
which I referred that some one or other of those present 
could not vouch for ; and whether I alluded to my earlier 
adventures in the Black Forest, or the expedition of Hum- 
bert, or to the later scenes of my life, I met corroboration 
from one quarter or another. Away as I was from Paris 
and its influences, in the midst of my comrades I never 
hesitated to relate the whole of my acquaintance with 
Fouche, — a part of my narrative which, I must own, 
amused them more than all the rest. 

In the midst of all these intoxicating praises, and of a 
degree of wonder that might have turned wiser heads, I 
never forgot that I was in possession of what seemed to my- 
self at least a very important military fact, — no less than 
the mistaken movement of an Austrian general, who had 
marched his division so far to the southward as to leave an 
interval of several miles between himself and the main body 
of the imperial forces. This fact I had obtained from the 
grenadiers I had made prisoners, and who were stragglers 
from the corps I alluded to. The movement in question 
was doubtless intended to menace the right flank of our 
army ; but every soldier of Napoleon well knew that so long 
as he could pierce the enemy’s centre such flank attacks were 
ineffectual, the question being already decided before they 
could be undertaken. 

My intelligence, important as it appeared to myself, struck 
the two generals as of even greater moment ; and Massena, 
who had arrived only a few hours before from his own divi- 
sion to confer with Vandamme, resolved to take me with him 
at once to headquarters. 

“You are quite certain of what you assert, Tiernay?” 
said he ; “ doubtful information, or a mere surmise, will not 
do with him before whom you will be summoned. Y r ou must 


“A LUCKY MEETING.” 507 

be clear on every point, and brief, — remember that ; not a 
word more than is absolutely necessary.” 

I repeated that I had taken the utmost precautions to 
assure myself of the truth of the men’s statement, and had 
ridden several leagues between the Austrian left and the left 
centre. The prisoners themselves could prove that they had 
marched from early morning till late in the afternoon with- 
out coming up with a single Austrian post. 

The next question was to equip me with a uniform ; but 
what should it be? I was not attached to any corps, nor 
had I any real rank in the army. Massena hesitated about 
appointing me on his own staff without authority, nor could 
he advise me to assume the dress of my old regiment. Time 
was pressing, and it was decided — I own to my great dis- 
comfiture — that I should continue to wear my Tyroler 
costume till my restoration to my former rank was fully 
established. 

I was well tired, having already ridden thirteen leagues 
of a bad road, when I was obliged to mount once more and 
accompany General Massena in his return to headquarters. 
A good supper and some excellent Bordeaux, and, better 
than either, a light heart, gave me abundant energy; and 
after the first three or four miles of the way, I felt as if I 
was equal to any fatigue. 

As we rode along, the general repeated all his cautions to 
me in the event of my being summoned to give information 
at headquarters, — the importance of all my replies being 
short, accurate, and to the purpose ; and, above all, the 
avoidance of anything like an opinion or expression of my 
own judgment on passing events. I promised faithfully to 
observe all his counsels, and not bring discredit on his 
patronage. 


CHAPTER L. 


THE MARCH ON VIENNA. 

All General Massena’s wise counsels and my own steady 
resolves to profit by them were so far thrown away, that, on 
our arrival at Abensberg, we found that the Emperor had left 
it four hours before and pushed on to Ebersfield, a village 
about five leagues to the eastward. A despatch, however, 
awaited Massena, telling him to push forward with Oudinot’s 
corps to Newstadt, and with his own division, which com- 
prised the whole French right, to manoeuvre so as to menace 
the Archduke’s base upon the Iser. 

Let my reader not fear that I am about to inflict on him a 
story of the great campaign itself, nor compel him to seek 
refuge in a map from the terrible array of hard names of 
towns and villages for which that district is famous. It is 
enough for my purpose that I recall to his memory the strik- 
ing fact that when the French sought victory by turning and 
defeating the Austrian left, the Austrians were exactly in 
march to execute a similar movement on the French left wing. 
Napoleon, however, gave the first “ check,” and “ mated ” his 
adversary ere he could open his game. By the almost light- 
ning speed of his manoeuvres, he moved forward from Rat- 
isbon with the great bulk of his army ; and at the very time 
that the Archduke believed him to be awaiting battle around 
that city, he was far on his march to Landshut. 

General Massena was taking a hurried cup of coffee, and 
dictating a few lines to his secretary, when a dragoon officer 
galloped into the town with a second despatch, which, what- 
ever its contents, must needs have been momentous ; for in 
a few minutes the drums were beating and trumpets sound- 
ing, and all the stirring signs of an immediate movement 
visible. It was yet an hour before daybreak, and dark as 


THE MARCH ON VIENNA. 


509 


midnight ; torches, however, blazed everywhere, and by 
their flaring light the artillery trains and wagons drove 
through the narrow street of the village, shaking the frail 
old houses with their rude trot. Even in a retreating army, 
I have scarcely witnessed such a spectacle of uproar, con- 
fusion, and chaos ; but still, in less than an hour the troops 
had all defiled from the town, the advanced guard was 
already some miles on its way, and except a small escort 
of lancers before the little inn where the general still re- 
mained, there was not a soldier to be seen. 

It may seem absurd to say it, but I must confess that 
my eagerness to know what was u going on” in front was 
divided by a feeling of painful uneasiness at my ridiculous 
dress, and the shame I experienced at the glances bestowed 
on me by the soldiers of the escort. It was no time, however, 
to speak of myself or attend to my own fortunes, and I loi- 
tered about the court of the inn wondering if in the midst of 
such stirring events the general would chance to remember 
me. If I had but a frock and a shako, thought I, I could 
make my way. It is this confounded velvet jacket and this 
absurd and tapering hat will be my ruin. If I were to charge 
a battery, I ’d only look like a merry-andrew after all ; men 
will not respect what is only laughable. Perhaps after all, 
thought I, it matters little ; doubtless Massena has forgotten 
me, and I shall be left behind like a broken limber. At 
one time I blamed myself for not pushing on with some 
detachment ; at another I half resolved to put a bold face on 
it, and present myself before the general; and between 
regrets for the past and doubts for the future, I at last 
worked myself up to a state of anxiety little short of 
fever. 

While I walked to and fro in this distracted mood I per- 
ceived, by the bustle within doors, that the general was 
about to depart; at the same time several dismounted 
dragoons appeared leading saddle-horses, tightening girths, 
and adjusting curb-chains, all tokens of a start. While I 
looked on these preparations, I heard the clatter of a horse’s 
hoofs close behind and the spluttering noise of a struggle. 
I turned and saw it was the general himself, who had just 
mounted his charger; but before catching his right stirrup 


510 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


the horse had plunged, and was dragging the orderly across 
the court by the bridle. Seeing, in an instant, that the sol- 
dier’s effort to hold on was only depriving General Massena 
of all command of the horse, who must probably have fallen 
on his flank, I jumped forward, caught the stirrup and 
slipped it over the general’s foot, and then with a sharp blow 
on the soldier’s wrist compelled him to relax his grasp. 
So suddenly were the two movements effected, that in less time 
than I take to relate it all was over, and the general, who for 
a heavy man was a good rider, was fast seated in his saddle. 
I had now no time, however, to bestow on him ; for the 
dragoon, stung by the insult of a blow, and from a peasant 
as he deemed it, rushed at me with his sabre. 

“ Halte la!” cried Massena, in a voice of thunder; “it 
was that country fellow saved me from a broken bone, which 
your infernal awkwardness might have given me. Throw 
him a couple of florins for me,” cried he to his aide-de-camp, 
who just rode in ; “ and do you, sir, join your ranks ; I must 
look for another orderly.” 

“ I am right glad to have been in the way, General,” said 
I, springing forward and touching my hat. 

“ What, Tiernay ! — this you? ” cried he. “ How is this? 
Have I forgotten you all this time? What’s to be done 
now? You ought to have gone on with the rest, Monsieur. 
You should have volunteered with some corps, eh?” 

“ I hoped to have been attached to yourself, General. I 
thought I could, perhaps, have made myself useful.” 

“ Yes, yes, very true; so you might, I’ve no doubt; but 
my staff is full, I’ve no vacancy. What ’s to be done now? 
Lestocque, have we any spare cattle?” 

“ Yes, General; we’ve your own eight horses, and two of 
Cambronne’s.” 

“ Ah, poor fellow, he’ll not want them more. I suppose 
Tiernay may as well take one of them, at least.” 

“ There ’s an undress uniform, too, of Cambronne’s would 
fit Monsieur de Tiernay,” said the officer, who I saw had no 
fancy for my motley costume alongside of him. 

“ Oh, Tiernay does n’t care for that ; he ’s too old a soldier 
to bestow a thought upon the color of his jacket,” said 
Massena. 


THE MARCH ON VIENNA. 


511 


“ Pardon me, General, but it is exactly one of my weak- 
nesses ; and I feel that until I get rid of these trappings I 
shall never feel myself a soldier.” 

“I thought you had been made of other stuff,” muttered 
the general, “ and particularly since there ’s like to be little 
love-making in the present campaign.” And with that he 
rode forward, leaving me to follow when I could. 

“ These are Cambronne’s keys,” said Lestocque, “ and 
you ’ll find enough for your present wants in the saddle-bags. 
Take the gray, he ’s the better horse, and come up with us as 
fast as you can.” 

I saw that I had forfeited something of General Mas- 
sena’s good opinion by my dandyism ; but I was consoled in 
a measure for the loss, as I saw the price at which I bought 
the forfeiture. The young officer who had fallen three days 
before, and was a nephew of the General Cambronne, was a 
lieutenant in Murat’s celebrated corps, the Lancers of Berg, 
whose uniform was the handsomest in the French army. 
Even the undress scarlet frock and small silver helmet were 
more splendid than many full parade uniforms; and as I 
attired myself in these brilliant trappings, I secretly vowed 
that the Austrians should see them in some conspicuous 
position ere a month was over. If I had but one sigh for 
the poor fellow to whose galanterie I succeeded, I had 
many a smile for myself as I passed and repassed before the 
glass, adjusting a belt or training an aigrette to fall more 
gracefully. While thus occupied, I felt something heavy 
click against my leg, and opening the sabretasch discovered 
a purse containing upwards of forty golden Napoleons and 
some silver. It was a singular way to succeed to a heri- 
tage, I thought ; but, with the firm resolve to make honest 
restitution, I replaced the money where I found it, and 
descended the stairs, my sabre jingling and my spurs clank- 
ing, to the infinite admiration of the hostess and her hand- 
maiden, who looked on my transformation as a veritable 
piece of magic. 

I’m sure Napoleon himself had not framed one-half as 
many plans for that campaign as I did while I rode along. 
By a close study of the map and the aid of all the oral 
information in my power, I had at length obtained a tolerably 


512 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


accurate notion of the country ; and I saw, or I thought I 
saw, at least half a dozen distinct ways of annihilating the 
Austrians. I have often since felt shame, even to myself, at 
the effrontery with which I discussed the great manoeuvres 
going forward, and the unblushing coolness with which I 
proffered my opinions and my criticisms ; and I really 
believe that General Massena tolerated my boldness rather 
for the amusement it afforded him than from any other cause. 

“ Well, Tiernay,” said he, as a fresh order reached him, 
with the most pressing injunction to hurry forward, “ we are 
to move at once on Moosburg ; what does that portend ? ” 

“ Sharp work, General,” replied I, not noticing the sly 
malice of the question ; “ the Austrians are there in force.” 

“ Do your grenadiers say so? ” asked he, sarcastically. 

“No, General; but as the base of the operations is the 
Iser, they must needs guard all the bridges over the river, as 
well as protect the high-road to Vienna by Landshut.” 

“But you forget that Landshut is a good eight leagues 
from that,” said he, with a laugh. 

“They’ll have to fall back there, nevertheless,” said I, 
coolly, “ or they suffer themselves to be cut off from their 
own centre.” 

“ Would you believe it?” whispered Massena to a colonel 
at his side, “ the fellow has just guessed our intended 
movement.” 

Low as he spoke, my quick ears caught the words, and my 
heart thumped with delight as I heard them. This was the 
Emperor’s strategy : Massena was to fall impetuously on the 
enemy’s left at Moosburg, and drive them to a retreat on 
Landshut; when, at the moment of the confusion and dis- 
order, they were to be attacked by Napoleon himself, with a 
vastly superior force. 

The game opened even sooner than expected, and a few 
minutes after the conversation I have reported our Tirailleurs 
were exchanging shots with the enemy. These sounds, how- 
ever, were soon drowned in the louder din of artillery, which 
thundered away at both sides till nightfall. It was a strange 
species of engagement, for we continued to march on the 
entire time, the enemy as steadily retiring before us, while 
the incessant cannonade never ceased. 


THE MARCH ON VIENNA. 


513 


Although frequently sent to the front with orders, I saw 
nothing of the Austrians ; a low line of bluish smoke towards 
the horizon, now and then flashing into flame, denoted their 
position, — and as we were about as invisible to them, a less 
exciting kind of warfare would be difficult to conceive. 
Neither was the destruction important; many of the Aus- 
trian shot were buried in the deep clay in our front, and 
considering the time and the number of pieces in action our 
loss was insignificant. Soldiers, if they be not the trained 
veterans of a hundred battles, grow very impatient in this 
kind of operation ; they cannot conceive why they are not 
led forward, and wonder at the |over caution of the general. 
Ours were mostly young levies, and were consequently very 
profuse of their comments and complaints. 

“Have patience, my brave boys!” said an old sergeant 
to some of the grumblers. “I’ve seen some service, and I 
never saw a battle open this way that there was n’t plenty of 
fighting ere it was over.” 

A long low range of hills bounds the plain to the west of 
Moosburg ; and on these, as night closed, our bivouac fires 
were lighted, some of them extending to nearly half a mile 
to the left of our real position, and giving the Austrians the 
impression that our force was stationed in that direction. A 
thin, drizzly rain, cold enough to be sleet, was falling ; and 
as the ground had been greatly cut up by the passage of 
artillery and cavalry, a less comfortable spot to bivouac in 
could not be imagined. It was difficult, too, to obtain wood 
for our fires, and our prospects for the dark hours were 
scarcely brilliant. The soldiers grumbled loudly at being 
obliged to sit and cook their messes at the murky flame of 
damp straw, while the fires at our left blazed away gayly 
without one to profit by them. Frenchmen, however, are 
rarely ill-humored in face of the enemy, and their complaints 
assumed all the sarcastic drollery which they so well under- 
stand; and even over their half-dressed supper they were 
beginning to grow merry, when staff officers were seen trav- 
ersing the lines at full speed in all directions. 

“We are attacked! the Austrians are upon us!” cried 
two or three soldiers, snatching up their muskets. 

“ No, no, friend,” replied a veteran, “ it ’s the other way; 
we are going at them.” 


514 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


This was the true reading of the problem; orders were 
sent to every brigade to form in close column of attack, 
artillery and cavalry to advance under their cover and ready 
to deploy at a moment’s notice. 

Moosburg lay something short of two miles from us, hav- 
ing the Iser in front, over which was a wooden bridge pro- 
tected by a strong flanking battery. The river was not 
passable, nor had we any means of transporting artillery 
across it ; so that to this spot our main attack was at once 
directed. Had the Austrian General Heller, who was second 
in command to the Archduke Louis, either cut off the bridge 
or taken effectual measures to oppose its passage, the great 
events of the campaign might have assumed a very different 
feature. It is said, however, that an entire Austrian brigade 
was encamped near Freising, and that the communication 
was left open to save them. Still, it must be owned that the 
imperialists took few precautions for their safety; for, de- 
ceived by our line of watch-fires, the pickets extended but a 
short distance into the plain, and when attacked by our light 
cavalry many of them were cut off at once, and of those who 
fell back several traversed the bridge with their pursuers at 
their heels. 

Such was the impetuosity of the French attack, that al- 
though the most positive orders had been given by Massena 
that not more than three guns and their caissons should 
traverse the bridge together, and even these at a walk, seven 
or eight were seen passing at the same instant and all at a 
gallop, making the old framework so rock and tremble that 
it seemed ready to come to pieces. As often happens, the 
hardihood proved our safety. The Austrians, counting upon 
our slow transit, only opened a heavy fire after several of our 
pieces had crossed and were already in a position to reply to 
them. Their defence, if somewhat late, was a most gallant 
one, and the gunners continued to fire on our advancing 
columns till we captured the block-house and sabred the men 
at their guns. Meanwhile the Imperial Cuirassiers, twelve 
hundred strong, made a succession of furious charges upon 
us, driving our light cavalry away before them, and for a 
brief space making the fortune of the day almost doubtful. 
It soon appeared, however, that these brave fellows were 


THE MARCH ON VIENNA. 


515 


merely covering the retreat of the main body, who in all 
haste were falling back on the villages of Furth and Arth. 
Some squadrons of Kellerman’s heavy cavalry gave time for 
our light artillery to open their fire, and the Austrian ranks 
were rent open with terrific loss. 

Day was now dawning, and showed us the Austrian army 
in retreat by the two great roads towards Landsbut. Every 
rising spot of ground was occupied by artillery, and in some 
places defended by stockades, — showing plainly enough 
that all hope of saving the guns was abandoned, and that 
they only thought of protecting their flying columns from our 
attack. These dispositions cost us heavily ; for as we were 
obliged to carry each of these places before we could advance, 
the loss in this hand-to-hand encounter was very considerable. 
At length, however, the roads became so blocked up by ar- 
tillery that the infantry were driven to defile into the swampy 
fields at the road-side, and here our cavalry cut them down 
unmercifully, while grape tore through the dense masses at 
half musket-range. 

Had discipline or command been possible, our condition 
might have been made perilous enough; since, in the 
impetuosity of attack, large masses of our cavalry got 
separated from their support, and were frequently seen 
struggling to cut their way out of the closing columns of the 
enemy. Twice or thrice it actually happened that officers 
surrendered the whole squadron as prisoners, and were 
rescued by their own comrades afterwards. The whole was 
a scene of pell-mell confusion and disorder, — some, aban- 
doning positions when successful defence was possible ; 
others, obstinately holding their ground when destruction 
was inevitable. Few prisoners were taken; indeed, I be- 
lieve quarter was little thought of by either side. The terri- 
ble excitement had raised men’s passions to the pitch of 
madness, and each fought with all the animosity of hate. 

Massena was always in the front, and, as was his custom, 
comporting himself with a calm steadiness that he rarely 
displayed in the common occurrences of every-day life. Like 
the English Picton, the crash and thunder of conflict seemed 
to soothe and assuage the asperities of an irritable temper, 
and his mind appeared to find a congenial sphere in the tur- 


516 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


moil and din of battle. The awkward attempt of a French 
squadron to gallop in a deep marsh, where men and horses 
were rolling indiscriminately together, actually gave him a 
hearty fit of laughter, and he issued his orders for their 
recall as though the occurrence were a good joke. It was 
while observing this incident that an orderly delivered into 
his hands some maps and papers that had just been captured 
from the fourgon of a staff-officer. Turning them rapidly 
over, Massena chanced upon the plan of a bridge, with marks 
indicative of points of defence at either side of it, and the 
arrangements for mining it if necessary. It was too long to 
represent the bridge of Moosburg, and must probably 
mean that of Landshut ; and so thinking, and deeming 
that its possession might be important to the Emperor, 
he ordered me to take a fresh horse and hasten with it 
to the headquarters. The orders I received were vague 
enough. 

“You’ll come up with the advance guard some eight or 
nine miles to the northward ; you ’ll chance upon some of the 
columns near Fleisheim.” 

Such were the hurried directions I obtained, in the midst 
of the smoke and din of a battle ; but it was no time to ask 
for more precise instructions, and away I went. 

In less than twenty minutes’ sharp riding I found myself 
in a little valley, enclosed by low hills and watered by a 
small tributary of the Danube, along whose banks cottages 
were studded in the midst of what seemed one great orchard, 
since for miles the white and pink blossoms of fruit-trees 
were to be seen extending. The peasants were at work in 
the fields, and the oxen were toiling along with the heavy 
wagons or the scarcely less cumbersome plough, as peace- 
fully as though bloodshed and carnage were not within a 
thousand miles of them. No high-road penetrated this 
secluded spot, and hence it lay secure, while ruin and devas- 
tation raged at either side of it. As the wind was from the 
west, nothing could be heard of the cannonade towards 
Moosburg, and the low hills completely shut out all signs of 
the conflict. I halted at a little wayside forge to have a 
loose shoe fastened ; and in the crowd of gazers who stood 
around me, wondering at my gay trappings and gaudy 


THE MARCH ON VIENNA. 


517 


uniform, not one had the slightest suspicion that I was other 
than Austrian. One old man asked me if it were not true 
that the 4 ' 4 French were coming ; ” and another laughed, and 
said, 44 They had better not,” — and there was all they knew 
of that terrible struggle, the shock that was to rend in twain 
a great empire. 

Full of varied thought on this theme I mounted and rode 
forward. At first, the narrow roads were so deep and heavy 
that I made little progress ; occasionally, too, I came to little 
streams traversed by a bridge of a single plank, and was 
either compelled to swim my horse across or wander long 
distances in search of a ford. These obstructions made me 
impatient, and my impatience but served to delay me more, 
and all my efforts to push directly forwards only tended to 
embarrass me. I could not ask for guidance, since I kn£w 
not the name of a single village or town, and to have 
inquired for the direction in which the troops were stationed 
might very possibly have brought me into danger. 

At last, and after some hours of toilsome wandering, I 
reached a small wayside inn ; and resolving to obtain some 
information of my whereabouts, I asked whither the road 
led that passed through a long, low, swampy plain, and dis- 
appeared in a pine- wood. 

44 To Landshut,” was the answer. 

44 And the distance? ” 

“Three German miles,” said the host; 4 4 but they are 
worse than five, for since the new line has been opened this 
road has fallen into neglect. Two of the bridges are broken, 
and a landslip has completely blocked up the passage at 
another place.” 

44 Then how am I to gain the new road? 

Alas ! there was nothing for it but going back to the 
forge where I had stopped three hours and a half before, and 
whence I could take a narrow bridle-path to Fleisheim that 
would bring me out on the great road. The very thought of 
retracing my way was intolerable. Many of the places I 
had leaped my horse over would have been impossible to 
cross from the opposite side ; once I narrowly escaped being 
carried down by a mill-race ; and, in fact, no dangers nor 
inconveniences of the road in front of me could equal those 


518 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


of the coarse I had just come. Besides all this, to return 
to Fleisheim would probably bring me far in the rear of the 
advancing columns, while if I pushed on towards Landshut 
I might catch sight of them from some rising spot of 
ground. 

“ You will go, I see/’ cried the host, as he saw me set 
out. “Perhaps you’re right; the old adage says, ‘It’s 
often the roughest road leads to the smoothest fortune.’ ” 

Even that much encouragement was not without its value. 
I spurred into a canter with fresh spirits. The host of the 
little inn had not exaggerated, — the road was execrable. 
Heavy rocks and mounds of earth had slipped down with 
the rains of winter, and remained in the middle of the way ; 
the fallen masonry of the bridges had driven the streams 
into new channels with deep pools among them ; broken 
wagons and ruined carts marked the misfortunes of some 
who had ventured on the track ; and except for a well- 
mounted and resolute horseman the way was impracticable. 

I was well-nigh overcome by fatigue and exhaustion, as 
clambering up a steep hill, with the bridle on my arm, I 
gained the crest of the ridge and suddenly saw Landshut — 
for it could be no other — before me. I have looked at 
many new pictures and scenes, but I own I never beheld 
one that gave me half the pleasure. The ancient town, with 
its gaunt old belfries and still more ancient castle, stood on 
a bend of the Inn, which was here crossed by a long wooden 
bridge supported on boats, a wide track of shingle and 
gravel on either side showing the course into which the melt- 
ing snows often swelled the stream. From the point where 
I stood I could see into the town. The Platz, the old gar- 
dens of the nunnery, the terrace of the castle, all were 
spread out before me ; and to my utter surprise there seemed 
little or no movement going forward. There were two guns 
in position at the bridge ; some masons were at work on the 
houses beside the river piercing the walls for the use of mus- 
ketry, and an infantry battalion was under arms in the mar- 
ket-place. These were all the preparations I could discover 
against the advance of a great army. But so it was ; the 
Austrian spies had totally misled them, and while they be- 
lieved that the great bulk of the French lay around Ratisbon, 


THE MARCH. ON VIENNA. 


519 


the centre of the army, sixty-five thousand strong and led 
by Napoleon himself, was in march to the southward. 

That the attack on Moosburg was still unknown at Land- 
shut seemed certain ; and I now perceived that, notwithstand- 
ing all the delays I had met with, I had really come by the 
most direct line, — whereas, on account of the bend of the 
river no Austrian courier could have brought tidings of the 
engagement up to that time. My attention was next turned 
towards the direction whence our advance might be expected ; 
but although I could see nearly four miles of the road, not a 
man was to be descried along it. 

I slowly descended the ridge, and passing through a 
meadow was approaching the high-road, when suddenly I 
heard the clattering of a horse at full gallop coming along 
the causeway. I mounted at once, and pushed forward to 
an angle of the road by which I was concealed from all view. 
The next instant, a Hungarian hussar turned the corner at 
top speed. 

4 4 What news ? ” cried I, in German ; 4 4 are they coming ? ” 

44 Ay, in force ! ” shouted he, without stopping. 

I at once drew my pistol, and levelled at him. The man’s 
back was towards me, and my bullet would have pierced his 
skull. It was my duty, too, to have shot him, for moments 
were then worth days or even weeks. I could n’t pull the 
trigger, however, and I replaced my weapon in the holster. 
Another horseman now swept past without perceiving me, 
and quickly behind him came a half squadron of hussars, 
all riding in mad haste and confusion. The horses, though 
44 blown,” were not sweated, so that I conjectured they had 
ridden fast though not far. Such was the eagerness to 
press on, and so intent were they on the thought of their 
own tidings, that none saw me, and the whole body swept 
by and disappeared. I waited a few minutes to listen ; and 
as the clattering towards Landshut died away, all was 
silent. 

Trusting to my knowledge of German to save me even if 
I fell in with the enemy, I now rode forward at speed in the 
direction of our advance. The road was straight as an 
arrow for miles, and a single object coming towards me was 
all I could detect. This proved to be a hussar of the 


520 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


squadron, whose horse, being dead lame, could not keep up 
with the rest ; and now the poor fellow was making the best 
of his way back as well as he was able. Of what use, 
thought I, to make him my prisoner, — one more or less at 
such a time can be of slight avail ; so I merely halted him to 
ask how near the French were. The man could only speak 
Hungarian, but made signs that the lancers were close upon 
us, and counselled me to make my escape into the town with 
all speed. I intimated by a gesture that I could trust to my 
horse, and we parted. He was scarcely out of sight when 
the bright gleam of brass helmets came into view towards 
the west, and then I could make out the shining cuirasses of 
the Corps de Guides, as, mounted on their powerful horses, 
they came galloping along. 

“ I thought I was foremost,” said a young officer to me as 
he rode up. “ How came you in advance? ” 

“Where’s the Etat-major?” cried I, in haste, and not 
heeding his question. “ I have a despatch for the Emperor.” 

“Follow the road,” said he, “and you’ll come up with 
them in half an hour.” 

And with these hurried words we passed each other. A 
sharp pistol report a moment after told me what had befallen 
the poor Hungarian; but I had little time to think of his 
fate. Our squadrons were coming on at a sharp pace, while 
in their rear the jingling crash of horse-artillery resounded. 
From a gentle rise of the road I could see a vast distance of 
country, and perceive that the French columns extended for 
miles away, — the great chaussee being reserved for the heavy 
artillery, while every by-road and lane were filled with troops 
of all arms hurrying onward. It was one of those precipi- 
tous movements by which Napoleon so often paralyzed an 
enemy at once, and finished a campaign by one daring 
exploit. 

At such a time it was in vain for me to ask in what direc- 
tion the staff might be found ; all were eager and intent on 
their own projects, and as squadron after squadron passed 
I saw it was a moment for action rather than for thought. 
Still, I did not like to abandon all hope of succeeding after 
so much of peril and fatigue ; and seeing that it was impos- 
sible to advance against the flood of horse and artillery that 


THE MARCH ON VIENNA. 


521 


formed along the road, I jumped my horse into a field at the 
side and pushed forward. Even here however the passage 
was not quite clear, since man} 7 in their eagerness to get for- 
ward had taken to the same line, and with cheering cries and 
wild shouts of joy were galloping on. My showy uniform 
drew many an eye towards me; and at last a staff-officer 
cried out to me to stop, pointing with his sabre as he spoke 
to a hill a short distance off where a group of officers were 
standing. 

This was General Moulon and his staff, under whose order 
the advanced guard was placed. 

“A despatch, — whence from?” cried he hastily, as I 
rode up. 

“No, sir; a plan of the bridge of Landshut, taken from 
the enemy this morning at Moosburg.” 

“Are they still there? ” asked he. 

“ By this time they must be close upon Landshut; they 
were in full retreat when I left them at daybreak.” 

“We’ll be able to speak of the bridge without this,” said 
he, laughing, and turning towards his staff, while he handed 
the sketch carelessly to some one beside him; “ and you ’ll 
serve the Emperor quite as well, sir, by coming with us as 
hastening to the rear.” 

I professed myself ready and willing to follow his orders, 
and away I went with the staff, well pleased to be once more 
on active service. 

Two cannon shots and a rattling crash of small arms told 
us that the combat had begun ; and as we rose the hill, the 
bridge of Landshut was seen on fire in three places. Either 
from some mistake of his orders or not daring to assume a 
responsibility for what was beyond the strict line of duty, 
the French commander of the artillery placed his guns in 
position along the river’s bank, and prepared to reply to the 
fire now opening from the town instead of at once dashing 
onward within the gates. Moulon hastened to repair the 
error ; but by the delay in pushing through the dense masses 
of horse, foot, and artillery that crowded the passage, it was 
full twenty minutes ere he came up. With a storm of oaths 
on the stupidity of the artillery colonel, he ordered the firing 
to cease, commanding both the cavalry and the train wagons 


522 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


to move right and left, and give place for a grenadier batta- 
lion who were coming briskly on with their muskets at the 
sling. 

The scene was now a madly exciting one. The chevaux - 
de-frise at one end of the bridge was blazing ; but beyond it, 
on the bridge, the Austrian engineer and his men were scat- 
tering combustible material, and with hempen torches touch- 
ing the new-pitched timbers. An incessant roll of musketry 
issued from the houses on the river-side, with now and then 
the deeper boom of a large gun, while the roar of voices and 
the crashing noise of artillery passing through the streets 
swelled into a fearful chorus. The French sappers quickly 
removed the burning chevaux-de-frise , and hurled the flaming 
timbers into the stream ; and scarcely was this done when 
Moulon, dismounting, advanced, cheering, at the head of his 
grenadiers. Charging over the burning bridge, they rushed 
forward; but their way was arrested by the strong timbers 
of a massive portcullis, which closed the passage. This had 
been concealed from our view by the smoke and flame ; and 
now, as the press of men from behind grew each instant 
more powerful, a scene of terrible suffering ensued. The 
enemy too poured down a deadly discharge, and grape-shot 
tore through us at pistol-range. The onward rush of the 
columns to the rear defied retreat, and in the mad confusion 
all orders and commands were unheard or unheeded. 

Not knowing what delayed our advance, I was busily 
engaged in suppressing a fire at one of the middle buttresses, 
when, mounting the parapet, I saw the cause of our halt. I 
happened to have caught up one of the pitched torches at 
the instant, and the thought at once struck me how to employ 
it. To reach the portcullis, no other road lay open than the 
parapet itself, — a wooden railing, wide enough for a foot- 
ing, but exposed to the whole fire of the houses. There was 
little time for the choice of alternatives, even had our fate 
offered any ; so I dashed on, and, as the balls whizzed and 
whistled around me, reached the front. It was a terrible 
thing to touch the timbers against which our men were 
actually flattened, and to set fire to the bars around which 
their hands were clasped; but I saw that the Austrian 
musketry had already done its work on the leading files, 


THE MARCH ON VIENNA. 


523 


and that not one man was living amongst them. By a 
blunder of one of the sappers, the portcullis had been 
smeared with pitch like the bridge; and as I applied the 
torch, the blaze sprung up, and encouraged by the rush of 
air between the beams spread in a second over the whole 
structure. Expecting my death- wound at every instant, I 
never ceased my task even when it had become no longer 
necessary, impelled by a kind of insane persistence to destroy 
the barrier. The wind carrying the flame inward, however, 
had compelled the Austrians to fall back, and before they 
could again open a collected fire on us the way was open, 
and the grenadiers like enraged tigers rushed wildly in. 

I remember that my coat was twice on fire, as, carried on 
my comrades’ shoulders, I was borne along into the town. 
I recollect too the fearful scene of suffering that ensued, the 
mad butchery at each doorway as we passed, the piercing 
cries for mercy and the groan of dying agony. War has no 
such terrible spectacle as a town taken by infuriated sol- 
diery, and even amongst the best of natures a relentless 
cruelty usurps the place of every chivalrous feeling. 

When or how I was wounded I never could ascertain ; but 
a round shot had penetrated my thigh, tearing the muscles 
into shreds, and giving to the surgeon who saw me the 
simple task of saying, “ Enlevez-le, — point d’espoir.” I 
heard thus much, and I have some recollection of a com- 
rade having kissed my forehead, and there ended my reminis- 
cences of Landshut. Nay, I am wrong ; I cherish another 
and a more glorious one. 

It was about four days after this occurrence that the sur- 
geon in charge of the military hospital was obliged to secure 
by ligature a branch of the femoral artery which had been 
traversed by the ball through my thigh. The operation was 
a tedious and difficult one, for round shot, it would seem, 
have little respect for anatomy, and occasionally displace 
muscles in a sad fashion. I was very weak after it was 
over, and orders were left to give a spoonful of Bordeaux 
and water from time to time during the evening, — a direc- 
tion which I listened to attentively, and never permitted my 
orderly to neglect. In fact, like a genuine sick man’s fancy, 
it caught possession of my mind that this wine and water 


524 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


was to save me ; and in the momentary rally of excitement 
it gave, I thought I tasted health once more. In this impres- 
sion I never awoke from a short doze without a request for 
my cordial, and half mechanically would make signs to wet 
my lips as I slept. 

It was near sunset, and I was lying with unclosed eyes, 
not asleep, but in that semi-conscious state that great bodily 
depression and loss of blood induce. The ward was unusu- 
ally quiet, the little buzz of voices that generally mingled 
through the accents of suffering were hushed, and I could 
hear the surgeon’s well-known voice as he spoke to some 
persons at the farther end of the chamber. 

By their stopping from time to time, I could remark that 
they were inspecting the different beds, but their voices were 
low and their steps cautious and noiseless. 

44 Tiernay — this is Tiernay,” said some one, reading my 
name from the paper over my head. Some low words which 
I could not catch followed, and then the surgeon replied, — 

4 4 There is a chance for him yet, though the debility is 
greatly to be feared.” 

I made a sign at once to my mouth, and after a second’s 
delay the spoon touched my lips, but so awkwardly was it 
applied that the fluid ran down my chin; with a sickly 
impatience I turned away, but a mild low voice, soft as a 
woman’s, said, — 

4 4 Allons / let me try once more;” and now the spoon 
met my lips with due dexterity. 

44 Thanks,” said I, faintly, and I opened my eyes. 

“You’ll soon be about again, Tiernay,” said the same 
voice; as for the person, I could distinguish nothing, for 
there were six or seven around me ; 4 4 and if I know any- 
thing of a soldier’s heart, this will do just as much as the 
doctor.” 

As he spoke he detached from his coat a small enamel 
cross and placed it in my hand, with a gentle squeeze of the 
fingers, and then saying, Au revoir , moved on. 

44 Who’s that?” cried I, suddenly, while a strange thrill 
ran through me. 

44 Hush ! ” whispered the surgeon, cautiously, — 44 hush ! 
it is the Emperor.” 






CHAPTER LI. 


“schonbrunn” in 1809. 

About two months afterwards, on a warm evening of sum- 
mer, I entered Vienna in a litter, along with some twelve 
hundred other wounded men, escorted by a regiment of 
cuirassiers. I was weak and unable to walk ; the fever of 
my wound had reduced me to a skeleton ; but I was consoled 
for everything by knowing that I was a captain on the 
Emperor’s own staff, and decorated by himself with the 
Cross of the Legion. Nor were these my only distinctions ; 
for my name had been included among the lists of the 
Officiers d’ Elite, — a new institution of the Emperor, enjoy- 
ing considerable privileges and increase of pay. 

To this latter elevation, too, I owed my handsome quar- 
ters in the Raab Palace at Vienna, and the sentry at my 
door, like that of a field-officer. Fortune, indeed, began to 
smile upon me ; and never are her flatteries- more welcome 
than in the first hours of returning health, after a long sick- 
ness. I was visited by the first men of the army ; marshals 
and generals figured among the names of my intimates, and 
invitations flowed in upon me from all that were distin- 
guished by rank and station. 

Vienna at that period presented few features of a city 
occupied by an enemy. The guards, it is true, on all 
arsenals and forts were French, and the gates were held by 
them ; but there was no interruption to the course of trade 
and commerce. The theatres were open every night, and 
balls and receptions went on with only redoubled frequency. 
Unlike his policy towards Prussia, Napoleon abstained from 
all that might humiliate the Austrians. Every possible con- 
cession was made to their natural tastes and feelings, and 
officers of all ranks in the French army were strictly enjoined 


526 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


to observe a conduct of conciliation and civility on every 
occasion of intercourse with the citizens. Few general 
orders could be more palatable to Frenchmen, and they set 
about the task of cultivating the good esteem of the Vien- 
nese with a most honest desire for success. Accident, too, 
aided their efforts not a little ; for it chanced that a short 
time before the battle of Aspern the city had been garrisoned 
by Croat and Wallachian regiments, whose officers, scarcely 
half civilized, and with all the brutal ferocity of barbarian 
tribes, were most favorably supplanted by Frenchmen in 
the best of possible tempers with themselves and the world. 

It might be argued, that the Austrians would have shown 
more patriotism in holding themselves aloof, and avoiding 
all interchange of civilities with their conquerors. Perhaps, 
too, this line of conduct would have prevailed to a greater 
extent had not those in high places set an opposite example. 
But so it was ; and in the hope of obtaining more favorable 
treatment in their last extremity, the princes of the Imperial 
House, and the highest nobles of the land, freely accepted 
the invitations of our marshals, and as freely received them 
at their own tables. 

There was something of pride, too, in the way these great 
families continued to keep up the splendor of their house- 
holds, large retinues of servants and gorgeous equipages, 
when the very empire itself was crumbling to pieces; and 
to the costly expenditure of that fevered interval may be 
dated the ruin of some of the richest of the Austrian nobil- 
ity. To maintain a corresponding style, and to receive the 
proud guests with suitable magnificence, enormous “allow- 
ances ” were made to the French generals ; while in striking 
contrast to all the splendor, the Emperor Napoleon lived at 
Schbnbrunn with a most simple household and restricted 
retinue. 

Berthier’s Palace, in the Graben, was by its superior mag- 
nificence the recognized centre of French society ; and thither 
flocked every evening all that was most distinguished in rank 
of both nations. Motives of policy, or at least the terrible 
pressure of necessity, filled these salons with the highest 
personages of the empire ; while, as if accepting as inevita- 
ble the glorious ascendancy of Napoleon, many of the French 


SCHONBRUNN” IN 1809. 


527 


emigre families emerged from their retirement to pay their 
court to the favored lieutenants of Napoleon. Marmont, 
who was highly connected with the French aristocracy, gave 
no slight aid to this movement, and, it was currently believed 
at the time, was secretly intrusted by the Emperor with the 
task of accomplishing what in modern phrase is styled a 
“ fusion.” 

The real source of all these flattering attentions on the 
Austrian side, however, was the well-founded dread of the 
partition of the empire, — a plan over which Napoleon was 
then hourly in deliberation, and to the non-accomplishment 
of which he ascribed, in the days of his last exile, all the 
calamities of his fall. Be this as it may, few thoughts of 
the graver interests at stake disturbed the pleasure we felt 
in the luxurious life of that delightful city; nor can I, 
through the whole of a long and varied career, call to mind 
any period of more unmixed enjoyment. 

Fortune stood by me in everything. Marshal Marmont 
required as the head of his Etat-major an officer who could 
speak and write German, and, if possible, who understood 
the Tyrol dialect. I was selected for the appointment ; but 
then there arose a difficulty. The etiquette of the service 
demanded that the chef d’etat-major should be at least a 
lieutenant-colonel, and I was but a captain. 

“No matter,” said he; “you are officier d' elite, which 
always gives brevet rank, and so one step more will place 
you where we want you. Come with me to Schonbrunn 
to-night, and I’ll try and arrange it.” 

I was still very weak and unable for any fatigue as I 
accompanied the marshal to the quaint old palace which, at 
about a league from the capital, formed the headquarters of 
the Emperor. Up to this time I had never been presented 
to Napoleon, and had formed to myself the most gorgeous 
notions of the state and splendor that should surround such 
majesty. Guess then my astonishment, and, need I own, 
disappointment, as we drove up a straight avenue very spar- 
ingly lighted, and descended at a large door, where a lieu- 
tenant’s guard was stationed. It was customary for the 
marshals and generals of division to present themselves each 
evening at Schonbrunn from six to nine o’clock, and we 


528 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


found that eight or ten carriages were already in waiting 
when we arrived. An officer of the household recognized the 
marshal as he alighted, and as we mounted the stairs whis- 
pered a few words hurriedly in his ear, of which I only 
caugh one, “ Komorn,” — the name of the Hungarian fortress 
on the Danube where the imperial family of Vienna and the 
cabinet had sought refuge. 

4 4 Diantre ! ” exclaimed Marmont, 4 4 bad news ! My dear 
Tiernay, we have fallen on an unlucky moment to ask a 
favor. The despatches from Komorn are, it would seem, 
unsatisfactory. The Tyrol is far from quiet. Kuffstein — 
I think that ’s the name, or some such place — is attacked 
by a large force, and likely to fall into their hands from 
assault.” 

44 That can scarcely be, sir,” said I, interrupting; 44 1 
know Kuffstein well. I was two years a prisoner there ; 
and, except by famine, the fortress is inaccessible.” 

44 What! are you certain of this?” cried he, eagerly; 
44 is there not one side on which escalade is possible?” 

44 Quite impracticable on every quarter, believe me, sir. 
A hundred men of the line and twenty gunners might hold 
Kuffstein against the world.” 

44 You hear what he says, Lefebre?” said Marmont to 
the officer. 44 1 think I might venture to bring him up.” 
The other shook his head doubtfully, and said nothing. 
44 Well, announce me then,” said the marshal; 44 and, Tier- 
nay, do you throw yourself on one of those sofas there, and 
wait for me.” 

I did as I was bade, and partly from the unusual fatigue 
and in part from the warmth of a summer evening soon fell 
off into a heavy sleep. I was suddenly awoke by a voice 
saying, 4 4 Come along, Captain, be quick ! your name has 
been called twice ! ” I sprung up and looked about me, 
without the very vaguest notion of where I was. 44 Where 
to? Where am I going?” asked I, in my confusion. 
“Follow that gentleman,” was the brief reply; and so I 
did in the same dreamy state that a sleep-walker might have 
done. 

Some confused impression that I was in attendance on 
General Marmont was all that I could collect, when I found 


SCHONBRUNN" IN 1809. 


529 


myself standing in a great room densely crowded with offi- 
cers of rank. Though gathered in groups and knots chat- 
ting, there was from time to time a sort of movement in the 
mass that seemed communicated by some single impulse ; 
and then all would remain watchful and attentive for some 
seconds, their eyes turned in the direction of a large door at 
the end of the apartment. At last this was thrown suddenly 
open, and a number of persons entered, at whose appear- 
ance every tongue was hushed and the very slightest gesture 
subdued. The crowd meanwhile fell back, forming a species 
of circle round the room, in front of which this newly- 
entered group walked. I cannot now remember what strug- 
gling efforts I made to collect my faculties, and think where 
I was then standing ; but if a thunderbolt had struck the 
ground before me, it could not have given me a more terrific 
shock than that I felt on seeing the Emperor himself address 
the general officer beside me. 

I cannot pretend to have enjoyed many opportunities of 
royal notice ; at the time I speak of, such distinction was 
altogether unknown to me. But even when most highly 
favored in that respect, I have never been able to divest 
myself of a most crushing feeling of my inferiority, — a 
sense at once so humiliating and painful that I longed to be 
away and out of a presence where I might dare to look at 
him who addressed me, and venture on something beyond 
mere replies to interrogatories. This situation, good reader, 
with all your courtly breeding and aplomb to boot, is never 
totally free of constraint ; but imagine what it can be when, 
instead of standing in the faint sunshine of a royal smile, 
you find yourself cowering under the stern and relentless 
look of anger, and that anger an Emperor’s ! 

This was precisely my predicament ; for in my confusion 
I had not noticed how, as the Emperor drew near to any 
individual to converse, the others at either side immediately 
retired out of hearing, preserving an air of obedient atten- 
tion, but without in any way obtruding themselves on the 
royal notice. The consequence was, that, as his Majesty 
stood to talk with Marshal Oudinot, I maintained my place, 
never perceiving my awkwardness till I saw that I made one 
of three figures isolated in the floor of the chamber. To say 

34 


530 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


that I had rather have stood in face of an enemy’s battery 
is no exaggeration ; I ’d have walked up to a gun with a 
stouter heart than I felt at this terrible moment, — and yet 
there was something in that sidelong glance of angry mean- 
ing that actually nailed me to the spot, and I could not have 
fallen back to save my life. There were, I afterwards 
learned, no end of signals and telegraphic notices to me 
from the officers in waiting; gestures and indications for 
my guidance abounded, — but I saw none of them. I had 
drawn myself up in an attitude of parade stiffness, neither 
looked right nor left, and waited as a criminal might have 
waited for the fall of - the axe that was to end his sufferings 
forever. 

That the Emperor remained something like two hours and 
a half in conversation with the marshal I should have been 
quite ready to verify on oath ; but the simple fact was that 
the interview occupied under four minutes ; and then Gene- 
ral Oudinot backed out of the presence, leaving me alone in 
front of his Majesty. 

The silence of the chamber was quite dreadful, as, with his 
hands clasped behind his back and his head slightly thrown 
forward, the Emperor stared steadily at me. I am more 
than half ashamed of the confession ; but what between the 
effect of long illness and suffering, the length of time I had 
been standing, and the emotion I experienced, I felt myself 
growing dizzy, and a sickly faintness began to creep over 
me, and but for the support of my sabre I should actually 
have fallen. 

“You seem weak; you had better sit down,” said the 
Emperor, in a soft and mild voice. 

“ Y"es, Sire, I have not quite recovered yet,” muttered I, in- 
distinctly ; but before I could well finish the sentence Mar- 
mont was beside the Emperor, and speaking rapidly to him. 

“ Ah, indeed ! ” cried Napoleon, tapping his snuff-box and 
smiling. “ This is Tiernay, then. Parbleu! we have heard 
something of you before.” 

Marmont still continued to talk on ; and I heard the 
words “ Rhine,” “ Genoa,” and “Kuffstein” distinctly fall 
from him. The Emperor smiled twice, and nodded his head 
slowly, as if assenting to what was said. 


SCHONBRUNN” IN 1809. 


531 


u But his wound? ” said Napoleon, doubtingly. 

“ He says that your Majesty cured him when the doctor 
despaired,” said Marmont. “I’m sure, Sire, he has equal 
faith in what you still could do for him.” 

“Well, sir,” said the Emperor, addressing me, “if all I 
hear of you be correct, you carry a stouter heart before the 
enemy than you seem to wear here. Your name is high in 
Marshal Massena’s list; and General Marmont desires to 
have your services on his staff. I make no objection ; you 
shall have your grade.” 

I bowed without speaking; indeed, I could not have 
uttered a word even if it had been my duty. 

“ They have extracted the ball, I hope?” said the Em- 
peror to me, and pointing to my thigh. 

“ It never lodged, Sire ; it was a round shot,” said I. 

“ Diable! a round shot! You’re a lucky fellow, Colonel 
Tiernay,” said he, laying a stress on the title, “ a very lucky 
fellow.” 

“ I shall ever think so, Sire, since your Majesty has said 
it,” was my answer. 

“ I was not a lieutenant-colonel at your age,” resumed 
Napoleon; “nor were you either, Marmont. You see, sir, 
that we live in better times ; at least, in times when merit is 
better rewarded.” 

And with this he passed on ; and Marmont, slipping my 
arm within his own, led me away, down the great stair, 
through crowds of attendant orderlies and groups of servants. 
At last we reached our carriage, and in half an hour re- 
entered Vienna, my heart wild with excitement, and burning 
with zealous ardor to do something for the service of the 
Emperor. 

The next morning I removed to General Marmont’s quar- 
ters, and for the first time put on the golden aigrette of chef 
d’etat-major, not a little to the astonishment of all who saw 
the “boy colonel,” as, half in sarcasm half in praise, they 
styled me. From an early hour of the morning till the time 
of a late dinner, I was incessantly occupied. The staff 
duties were excessively severe, and the number of letters to 
be read and replied to almost beyond belief. The war had 
agnin assumed something of importance in the Tyrol. Hofer 


532 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


and Spechbacher were at the head of considerable forces, 
which in the fastnesses of their native mountains were more 
than a match for any regular soldiery. The news from 
Spain was gloomy : England was already threatening her 
long-planned attack on the Scheldt. Whatever real impor- 
tance might attach to these movements, the Austrian cabinet 
made them the pretext for demanding more favorable con- 
ditions ; and Metternich was emboldened to go so far as to 
ask for the restoration of the empire in all its former 
integrity. 

These negotiations between the two cabinets at the time 
assumed the most singular form which probably was ever 
adopted in such intercourse, — all the disagreeable intelli- 
gences and disastrous tidings being communicated from one 
side to the other, with the mock politeness of friendly rela- 
tions. As, for instance, the Austrian cabinet would forward 
an extract from one of Hofer’s descriptions of a victory ; to 
which the French would reply by a bulletin of Eugene 
Beauharnois, or, as Napoleon on one occasion did, by a 
copy of a letter from the Emperor Alexander, filled with 
expressions of friendship and professing the most perfect 
confidence in his “ brother of France.” So far was this 
petty and most contemptible warfare carried, that every 
little gossip and every passing story was pressed into the 
service, and if not directly addressed to the cabinet, at least 
conveyed to its knowledge by some indirect channel. 

It is probable I should have forgotten this curious feature 
of the time, if not impressed on my memory by personal 
circumstances too important to be easily obliterated from 
memory. An Austrian officer arrived one morning from 
Ivomorn, with an account of the defeat of Lefebre’s force 
before Schenatz, and of a great victory gained by Hofer and 
Spechbacher over the French and Bavarians. Two thousand 
prisoners were said to have been taken, and the French 
driven across the Inn and in full retreat on Kuff stein. Now, 
as I had been confined at Kuff stein, and could speak of its 
impregnable character from actual observation, I was imme- 
diately sent off with despatches about some indifferent 
matter to the cabinet, with injunctions to speak freely about 
the fortress, and declare that we were perfectly confident of 


SCHONBRUNN” IN 1809. 


533 


its security. I may mention incidentally, and as showing 
the real character of my mission, that a secret despatch from 
Lefebre had already reached Vienna, in which he declared 
that he should be compelled to evacuate the Tyrol and fall 
back into Bavaria. 

“I have provided you with introductions that will secure 
your friendly reception,” said Marmont to me. “The 
replies to these despatches will require some days, during 
which you will have time to make many acquaintances 
about the court, and if practicable to effect a very delicate 
object.” 

This, after considerable injunctions as to secrecy and so 
forth, was no less than to obtain a miniature, or a copy of 
a miniature, of the young archduchess, who had been so 
dangerously ill during the siege of Vienna, and whom report 
represented as exceedingly handsome. A good-looking 
young fellow, a colonel of two or three and twenty, with 
unlimited bribery, if needed, at command, should find little 
difficulty in the mission, — at least, so Marmont assured me ; 
and from his enthusiasm on the subject I saw, or fancied I 
saw, that he would have had no objection to be employed in 
the service himself. For while professing how absurd it was 
to offer any advice or suggestion on such a subject to one 
like myself, he entered into details, and sketched out a plan 
of campaign that might well have made a chapter of “ Gil 
Bias.” It would possibly happen, he reminded me, that the 
Austrian court would grow suspectful of me, and not exactly 
feel at ease were my stay prolonged beyond a day or two, 
— in which case it was left entirely to my ingenuity to 
devise reasons for my remaining; and I was at liberty to 
despatch couriers for instructions, and await replies, to any 
extent I thought requisite. In fact, I had a species of 
general commission to press into the service whatever re- 
sources could forward the object of my mission, success 
being the only point not to be dispensed with. 

“Take a week, if you like, — a month, if you must, 
Tiernay,” said he to me at parting; “but, above all, no 
failure ! mind that — no failure ! ” 


CHAPTER LII. 


“ KOMORN FORTY YEARS AGO.” 

I doubt if our great Emperor elated his first despatch from 
Schonbrunn with a prouder sense of elevation than did I 
write “Komorn” at the top of my first letter to Marshal 
Marmont, detailing, as I had been directed, every incident 
of my reception. I will not pretend to say that my com- 
munication might be regarded as a model for diplomatic 
correspondence ; but having since that period seen some- 
thing of the lucubrations of great envoys and plenipos, I am 
only astonished at my unconscious imitation of their style, 
— blending, as I did, the objects of my mission with every 
little personal incident, and making each trivial circumstance 
bear upon the fortune of my embassy. 

I narrated my morning interview with Prince Metternich, 
whose courteous but haughty politeness was not a whit 
shaken by the calamitous position of his country, and who 
wished to treat the great events of the campaign as among 
the transient reverses which war deals out, — on this side to- 
day, on that to-morrow. I told that my confidence in the 
impregnable character of Kuff stein only raised a smile, for it 
had already been surrendered to the Tyrolese ; and I summed 
up my political conjectures by suggesting that there was 
enough of calm confidence in the minister’s manner to induce 
me to suspect that they were calculating on the support of 
the northern powers, and had not given up the cause for lost. 
I knew for certain that a Russian courier had arrived and 
departed since my own coming ; and although the greatest 
secrecy had attended the event, I ascertained the fact that 
he had come from St. Petersburg and was returning to 
Moscow, where the Emperor Alexander then was. Perhaps 
I was a little piqued, I am afraid I was, at the indifference 


KOMORN FORTY YEARS AGO . 2 


535 


manifested at my own presence, and the little, or indeed no, 
importance attached to my prolonged stay ; for when I in- 
formed Count Stadion that I should await some tidings from 
Vienna before returning thither, he very politely expressed 
his pleasure at the prospect of my company, and proposed 
that we should have some partridge shooting, for which the 
country along the Danube is famous. The younger brother 
of this minister, Count Ernest Stadion, and a young Hunga- 
rian magnate, Palakzi, were my constant companions. They 
were both about my own age, but had only joined the army 
that same spring, and were most devoted admirers of one 
who had already won his epaulettes as a colonel in the 
French service. They showed me every object of interest 
and curiosity in the neighborhood, arranged parties for 
riding and shooting, and in fact treated me in all respects 
like a much valued guest, — well repaid, as it seemed, by 
those stories of war and battle-fields which my own life and 
memory supplied. 

My improved health was already noticed by all, when 
Metternich sent me a most polite message, stating that if 
my services at Vienna could be dispensed with for a while 
longer, it was hoped I would continue to reside where I had 
derived such benefit, and breathe the cheering breezes of 
Hungary for the remainder of the autumn. 

It was full eight-and-twenty years later that I accidentally 
learned to what curious circumstance I owed this invitation. 
It chanced that the young archduchess, who was ill during 
the siege, was lingering in a slow convalescence ; and to 
amuse the tedious hours of her sick couch, Madame Palakzi, 
the mother of my young friend, was accustomed to recount 
some of the stories which I, in the course of the morning, 
happened to relate to her son. So guardedly was all this 
contrived and carried on that it was not, as I have said, for 
nearly thirty years after that I knew of it ; and then the 
secret was told me by the chief personage herself, the Grand 
Duchess of Parma. 

Though nothing could better have chimed in with my plans 
than this request, yet in reality the secret object of my 
mission appeared just as remote as on the first day of my 
arrival. My acquaintances were limited to some half-dozen 


536 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


gentlemen in waiting, and about an equal number of young 
officers of the staff, with whom I dined, rode, hunted, and 
shot, — never seeing a single member of the imperial family, 
nor, stranger still, one lady of the household. In what 
Turkish seclusion they lived ! when they ventured out for air 
and exercise, and where, were questions that never ceased to 
torture me. It was true that all my own excursions had 
been on the left bank of the river, towards which side the 
apartment I occupied looked ; but I could scarcely suppose 
that the right presented much attraction, since it appeared 
to be an impenetrable forest of oak, besides that the bridge 
which formerly connected it with the island of Komorn had 
been cut off during the war. Of course, this was a theme 
on which I could not dare to touch ; and as the reserve of 
my companions was never broken regarding it, I was obliged 
to be satisfied with my own guesses on the subject. 

I had been about two months at Komorn when I was in- 
vited to join a shooting party on the north bank of the river 
at a place called Ercacs, — or, as the Hungarians pronounce 
it, Ercacsh, — celebrated for the black cock, or the auerhahn, 
one of the finest birds of the east of Europe. All my com- 
panions had been promising me great things when the season 
for the sport should begin, and I was equally anxious to dis- 
play my skill as a marksman. The scenery, too, was repre- 
sented as surpassingly fine, and I looked forward to the 
expedition, which was to occupy a week, with much interest. 

One circumstance alone damped the ardor of my enjoy- 
ment : for some time back exercise on horseback had become 
painful to me, and some of those evil consequences which my 
doctor had speculated on, such as exfoliation of the bone, 
seemed now threatening me. Up to this the inconvenience 
had gone no further than an occasional sharp pang after a 
hard day’s ride, or a dull uneasy feeling which prevented my 
sleeping soundly at night. I hoped, however, by time, that 
these would subside, and the natural strength of my consti- 
tution carry me safely over every mischance. I was ashamed 
to speak of these symptoms to my companions, lest they 
should imagine that I was only screening myself from the 
fatigues of which they so freely partook ; and so I continued, 
day after day, the same habit of severe exercise, while 


KOMORN FORTY YEARS AGO. J 


587 


feverish nights and a failing appetite made me hourly weaker. 
My spirits never flagged, and perhaps in this way damaged 
me seriously, supplying a false energy long after real strength 
had begun to give way. The world, indeed, u went so well ” 
with me in all other respects that I felt it would have been the 
blackest ingratitude against Fortune to have given way to 
anything like discontent or repining. It was true I was far 
from being a solitary instance of a colonel at my age, — 
there were several such in the army, and one or two even 
younger ; but they were unexceptionally men of family influ- 
ence, descendants of the ancient nobility of France, for 
whose chivalric names and titles the Emperor had conceived 
the greatest respect ; and never in all the pomp of Louis the 
Fourteenth’s court were a Gramont, a Guise, a Rochefoucauld, 
or a Tavanne more certain of his favorable notice. Now, I 
was utterly devoid of all such pretensions ; my claims to 
gentle blood, such as they were, derived from another land, 
and I might even regard myself as the maker of my own 
fortune. 

How little thought did I bestow on my wound, as I 
mounted my horse on that mellow day of autumn ! How in- 
different was I to the pang that shot through me as I touched 
the flank with my leg ! Our road led through a thick forest, 
but over a surface of level sward, along which we galloped 
in all the buoyancy of youth and high spirits. An occasional 
trunk lay across our way, and these we cleared at a leap, — 
a feat which I well saw my Hungarian friends were some- 
what surprised to perceive gave me no trouble whatever. 
My old habits of the riding-school had made me a perfect 
horseman; and, rather vain of my accomplishment, I rode 
at the highest fences I could find. In one of these exploits 
an acute pang shot through me, and I felt as if something 
had given way in my leg. The pain for some minutes was 
so intense that I could with difficulty keep the saddle, and 
even when it had partially subsided the suffering was very 
great. 

To continue my journey in this agony was impossible; 
and yet I was reluctant to confess that I was overcome by 
pain. Such an acknowledgment seemed unsoldierlike and 
unworthy, and I determined not to give way. It was no 
use , the suffering brought on a sickly faintness that com- 


538 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


pletely overcame me. I had nothing for it but to turn back ; 
so, suddenly affecting to recollect a despatch that I ought to 
have sent off before I left, I hastily apologized to my com- 
panions, and with many promises to overtake them by even- 
ing I returned to Komorn. 

A Magyar groom accompanied me to act as my guide ; 
and attended by this man, I slowly retraced my steps towards 
the fortress, — so slowly, indeed, that it was within an hour 
of sunset as we gained the crest of the little ridge, from 
which Komorn might be seen, and the course of the Danube 
as it wound for miles through the plain. 

It is always a grand and imposing scene, one of those vast 
Hungarian plains, with waving woods and golden cornfields, 
bounded by the horizon on every side, and marked by those 
immense villages of twelve or even twenty thousand inhabi- 
tants. Trees, rivers, plains, even the dwellings of the 
people, are on a scale with which nothing in the Old World 
can vie. But even with this great landscape before me, I 
was more struck by a small object which caught my eye as I 
looked towards the fortress. It was a little boat, covered 
with an awning and anchored in the middle of the stream, 
and from which I could hear the sound of a voice singing to 
the accompaniment of a guitar. There was a stern and 
solemn quietude in the scene ; the dark fortress, the darker 
river, the deep woods casting their shadows on the water, all 
presented a strange contrast to that girlish voice and tinkling 
melody, so light-hearted and so free. 

The Magyar seemed to read what was passing in my mind, 
for he nodded significantly, and, touching his cap in token 
of respect, said it was the young Archduchess Maria Louisa, 
who with one or two of her ladies enjoyed the cool of the 
evening on the river. This was the very same princess for 
whose likeness I was so eager, and of whom I never could 
obtain the slightest tidings. With what an interest that bark 
became invested from that moment ! I had more than sus- 
pected, I had divined, the reasons of General Marmont’s 
commission to me, and could picture to myself the great 
destiny that in all likelihood awaited her who now in sickly 
dalliance moved her hand in the stream, and scattered the 
sparkling drops in merry mood over her companions. Twice 
or thrice a head of light-brown hair peeped from beneath 


KOMORN FORTY YEARS AGO.' 


539 


the folds of the awning, and I wondered within myself if it 
were on that same brow that the greatest diadem of Europe 
was to sit. 

So intent was I on these fancies, so full of the thousand 
speculations that grew out of them, that I paid no attention 
to what was passing, and never noticed an object on which 
the Hungarian’s eyes were bent in earnest contemplation. A 
quick gesture and a sudden exclamation from the man soon 
attracted me, and I beheld, about a quarter of a mile off, an 
enormous timber-raft descending the stream at headlong 
speed. That the great mass had become unmanageable, and 
was carried along by the impetuosity of the current, was 
plain enough, not only from the zig-zag course it took, but 
from the wild cries and frantic gestures of the men on board. 
Though visible to us from the eminence on which we stood, 
a bend of the stream still concealed it from those in the boat. 
To apprise them of their danger, we shouted with all our 
might, gesticulating at the same time, and motioning to them 
to put in to shore. It whs all in vain ; the roar of the river, 
which here is almost a torrent, drowned our voices, and the 
little boat still held her place in the middle of the stream. 
Already the huge mass was to be seen emerging from behind 
a wooded promontory of the river side, and now their de- 
struction seemed inevitable. 

Without waiting to reach the path, I spurred my horse 
down the steep descent, and half falling and half plunging 
gained the bank. To all seeming now they heard me, for 
I saw the curtain of the awning suddenly move, and a boat- 
man’s red cap peer from beneath it. I screamed and shouted 
with all my might, and called out, “The raft! the raft!” 
till my throat felt bursting. For some seconds the progress 
of the great mass seemed delayed, probably by having 
become entangled with the trees along the shore ; but now, 
borne along by its immense weight, it swung round the 
angle of the bank, and came majestically on, — a long, 
white wave marking its course as it breasted the water. 

They see it! they see it! Oh, good heavens! are they 
paralyzed with terror, for the boatman never moves! A 
wild shriek rises above the roar of the current, and yet they 
do nothing. What prayers and cries of entreaty, what wild 
imprecations I uttered, I know not; but I am sure that 


540 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


reason had already left me, and nothing remained in its 
place except the mad impulse to save them, or perish. 
There was then so much of calculation in my mind that I 
could balance the chances of breasting the stream on horse- 
back or alone, — and this done, I spurred my animal over 
the bank into the Danube. A horse is a noble swimmer 
when he has courage, and a Hungarian horse rarely fails in 
this quality. Heading towards the opposite shore, the gal- 
lant beast cleared his track through the strong current, 
snorting madly, and seeming to plunge at times against the 
rushing waters. 

I never turned my eyes from the skiff all this time, and 
now could see the reason of what had seemed their apathy. 
The anchor had become entangled, fouled among some 
rocks or weeds of the river, and the boatman’s efforts to lift 
it were all in vain. I screamed and yelled to the man to 
cut the rope ; but my cries were unheard, for he bent over 
the gunwale, and tugged and tore with all his might. I was 
more than fifty yards higher up the stream, and rapidly 
gaining the calmer water under shore, when I tried to turn 
my horse’s head down the current ; but the instinct of safety 
rebelled against all control, and the animal made straight for 
the bank. There was then but one chance left, and taking 
my sabre in my mouth I sprang from his back into the 
stream. In all the terrible excitement of that dreadful 
moment I clung to one firm purpose. The current would 
surely carry the boat into safety if once free : I had no room 
for any thought but this. The great trees along shore, the 
great fortress, the very clouds overhead, seemed to fly past 
me as I was swept along ; but I never lost sight of my pur- 
pose ; and now, almost within my grasp, I see the boat and 
the three figures, who are bending down over one that seems 
to have fainted. With my last effort, I cry again to cut the 
rope ; but his knife has broken at the handle ! I touch the 
side of the skiff, I grasp the gunwale with one hand, and 
seizing my sabre in the other I make one desperate cut. 
The boat swings round to the current, the boatman’s oars 
are out, — they are saved! My “Thank God ” is like the 
cry of a drowning man, — for I know no more. 


CHAPTER LIII. 


A LOSS AND A GAIN. 

To apologize to my reader for not strictly tracing out each 
day of my history would be in all likelihood as great an 
impertinence as that of the tiresome guest, who, haying kept 
you two hours from your bed by his uninteresting twaddle, 
asks you to forgive him at last for an abrupt departure. I 
am already too full of gratitude for the patience that has been 
conceded to me so far, to desire to trifle with it during the 
brief space that is now to link us together. And believe me, 
kind reader, there is more in that same tie than perhaps you 
think, especially where the intercourse has been carried on, 
and as it were fed, from month to month. In such cases 
the relationship between him who writes and him who reads 
assumes something like acquaintanceship, heightened by a 
greater desire on one side to please than is usually felt in 
the routine business of every-day life. Nor is it a light 
reward if one can think that he has relieved a passing hour 
of solitude or discomfort, shortened a long wintry night, or 
made a rainy day more endurable. I speak not here of the 
greater happiness in knowing that our inmost thoughts have 
found their echo in far-away hearts, kindling noble emotions 
and warming generous aspirations, teaching courage and 
hope by the very commonest of lessons, and showing that 
in the moral as in the vegetable world the bane and antidote 
grow side by side ; and, as the Eastern poet has it, “ He who 
shakes the tree of sorrow is often sowing the seeds of joy.” 
Such are the triumphs of very different efforts from mine, 
however, and I come back to the humble theme from which 
I started. 

If I do not chronicle the incidents which succeeded to the 
events of my last chapter, it is, in the first place, because 


542 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


they are most imperfectly impressed upon my own memory ; 
and, in the second, they are of a nature which, whether in the 
hearing or the telling, can afford little pleasure. For what if 
I should enlarge upon a text which runs but on suffering and 
sickness, nights of feverish agony, days of anguish, terrible 
alternations of hope and fear, ending at last in the sad, sad 
certainty that skill has found its limit? The art of the sur- 
geon can do more, and Maurice Tiernay must consent to 
lose his leg ! Such was the cruel news I was compelled to 
listen to as I awoke one morning dreaming, and for the first 
time since my accident, of my life in Kufif stein. The injuries 
I had received before being rescued from the Danube had 
completed the mischief already begun, and all chance of 
saving my limb had now fled. I am not sure if I could not 
have heard a sentence of death with more equanimity than 
the terrible announcement that I was to drag out existence 
maimed and crippled, — to endure the helplessness of age 
with the warm blood and daring passions of youth, and, 
worse than all, to forego a career that was already opening 
with such glorious prospects of distinction. 

Nothing could be more kindly considerate than the mode 
of communicating this sad announcement ; nor was there 
omitted anything which could alleviate the bitterness of the 
tidings. The undying gratitude of the imperial family, 
their heartfelt sorrow for my suffering, the pains they had 
taken to communicate the whole story of my adventure to 
the Emperor Napoleon himself, were all insisted on; while 
the personal visits of the archdukes, and even the Emperor 
himself, at my sick bed were told to me with every flattery 
such acts of condescension could convey. Let me not be 
thought ungrateful if all these seemed but a sorry payment 
for the terrible sacrifice I was to suffer, and that the glitter- 
ing crosses which were already sent to me in recognition, 
and which now sparkled on my bed, appeared a poor price 
for my shattered and wasted limb ; and I vowed to myself 
that to be once more strong and in health I ’d change for- 
tunes with the humblest soldier in the grand army. 

After all, it is the doubtful alone can break down the mind 
and waste the courage ; to the brave man, the inevitable is 
always the endurable. Some hours of solitude and reflection 


A LOSS AND A GAIN. 


543 


brought this conviction to my heart, and I recalled the rash 
refusal I had already given to submit to the amputation, and 
sent word to the doctors that I was ready. My mind once 
made up, a thousand ingenious suggestions poured in their 
consolations. Instead of incurring my misfortune as I had 
done, my mischance might have originated in some common- 
place or inglorious accident. In lieu of the proud recogni- 
tions I had earned I might have now the mere sympathy of 
some fellow- sufferer in an hospital ; and instead of the Cross 
of St. Stephen and the “valor medal” of Austria, my re- 
ward might have been the few sous per day allotted to an 
invalided soldier. 

As it was, each post from Vienna brought me nothing but 
flattering recognitions ; and one morning a large sealed let- 
ter from Duroc conveyed the Emperor’s own approval of 
my conduct, with the cross of commander of the Legion of 
Honor. A whole life of arduous services might have failed 
to win such prizes, and so I struck the balance of good and 
evil fortune, and found I was the gainer ! 

Among the presents which I received from the imperial 
family was a miniature of the young archduchess whose life 
I saved, and which I at once despatched by a safe messen- 
ger to Marshal Marmont, engaging him to have a copy of it 
made and the original returned to me. I concluded that cir- 
cumstances must have rendered this impossible, for I never 
beheld the portrait again, although I heard of it among the 
articles bequeathed to the Due de Reichstadt at St. Helena. 
Maria Louisa was at that time very handsome. The upper 
lip and mouth were, it is true, faulty, and the Austrian 
heaviness marred the expression of these features ; but her 
brow and eyes were singularly fine, and her hair of a 
luxuriant richness rarely to be seen. 

Count Palakzi, my young Hungarian friend, and who had 
scarcely ever quitted my bedside during my illness, used to 
jest with me on my admiration of the young archduchess, 
and jokingly compassionate me on the altered age we lived 
in,’ in contrast to those good old times when a bold feat or a 
heroic action was sure to win the hand of a fair princess. I 
half suspect that he believed me actually in love with her, 
and deemed that this was the best way to treat such an 


544 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


absurd and outrageous ambition. To amuse myself with his 
earnestness, for such had it become, on the subject, I 
affected not to be indifferent to his allusions, and assumed 
all the delicate reserve of devoted admiration. Many an 
hour have I lightened by watching the fidgety uneasiness the 
young count felt at my folly ; for now instead of jesting, as 
before, he tried to reason me out of this insane ambition, and 
convince me that such pretensions were utter madness. 

I was slowly convalescing, about five weeks after the 
amputation of my leg, when Palakzi entered my room one 
morning with an open letter in his hand. His cheek was 
flushed, and his air and manner greatly excited. 

44 Would you believe it, Tiernay,” said he, 44 Stadion writes 
me word from Vienna that Napoleon has asked for the hand 
of the young archduchess in marriage, and that the Emperor 
has consented.” 

44 And am I not considered in this negotiation? ” asked I, 
scarcely suppressing a laugh. 

‘ 4 This is no time nor theme for jest,” said he, passionately ; 
44 nor is it easy to keep one’s temper at such a moment. A 
Hapsburgher princess married to a low Corsican adventurer ! 
to the — ” 

44 Come, Palakzi,” cried I, 44 these are not words for me 
to listen to ; and having heard them, I may be tempted to 
say that the honor comes all of the other side, and that he 
who holds all Europe at his feet ennobles the dynasty from 
which he selects his empress.” 

44 1 deny it, — fairly and fully deny it ! ” cried the passion- 
ate youth. 44 And every noble of this land would rather see 
the provinces of the empire torn from us than a princess of 
the Imperial House degraded to such an alliance ! ” 

44 Is the throne of France, then, so low? ” said I, calmly. 

44 Not when the rightful sovereign is seated on it,” said 
he. 44 But are we, the subjects of a legitimate monarchy, to 
accept as equals the lucky accidents of your Revolution? 
By what claim is a soldier of fortune the peer of king or 
kaiser ? I for one will never more serve a cause so degraded ; 
and the day on which such humiliation is our lot shall be 
the last of my soldiering ; ” and so saying, he rushed 
passionately from the room and disappeared. 


A LOSS AND A GAIN. 


545 


I mention this little incident here, not as in any way con- 
necting itself with my own fortunes, but as illustrating what 
I afterwards discovered to be the universal feeling enter- 
tained towards this alliance. Low as Austria then was, — 
beaten in every battle, her vast treasury confiscated, her 
capital in the hands of an enemy, her very existence as an 
empire threatened, — the thought of this insult, for such 
they deemed it, to the Imperial House seemed to make the 
burden unendurable ; and many who would have sacrificed 
territory and power for a peace would have scorned to accept 
it at such a price as this. 

I suppose the secret history of the transaction will never 
be disclosed ; but living as I did, at the time, under the same 
roof with the royal family, I inclined to think that their 
counsels were of a divided nature ; that while the emperor 
and the younger archdukes gave a favorable ear to the 
project, the empress and the Archduke Charles as steadily 
opposed it. The gossip of the day spoke of dreadful scenes 
between the members of the Imperial House, and some have 
since asserted that the breaches of affection that were then 
made never were reconciled in after life. 

With these events of state or private history I have no 
concern. My position and my nationality of course excluded 
me from confidential intercourse with those capable of giving 
correct information ; nor can I record anything beyond the 
mere current rumors of the time. This much, however, I 
could remark, — that all whom conviction, policy, or perhaps 
bribery inclined to the alliance were taken into court favor, 
and replaced in the offices of the household those whose 
opinions were adverse. A total change, in fact, took place 
in the persons of the royal suite ; and the Hungarian nobles, 
many of whom filled the “ hautes charges,” as they are 
called, now made way for Bohemian grandees, who were 
understood to entertain more favorable sentiments towards 
France. Whether in utter despair of the cause for which 
they had suffered so long and so much, or that they were 
willing to accept this alliance with the oldest dynasty in 
Europe as a compromise, I am unable to say ; but so was it. 
Many of the emigre nobility of France, the unflinching, im- 
placable enemies of Bonaparte, consented to bury their 

35 


546 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


ancient grudges, and were now seen accepting place and 
office in the Austrian household. This was a most artful 
flattery of the Austrians, and was peculiarly agreeable to 
Napoleon, who longed to legalize his position by a recon- 
ciliation with the old followers of the Bourbons, and who 
dreaded their schemes and plots far more than he feared all 
the turbulent violence of the Faubourg. In one day no 
fewer than three French nobles were appointed to places of 
trust in the household, and a special courier was sent off to 
Gratz- to convey the appointment of maid of honor to a 
young French lady who lived there in exile. 

Each of my countrymen on arriving came to visit me. 
They had all known my father by name, if not personally, 
and most graciously acknowledged me as one of themselves, 
— a flattery they sincerely believed above all price. 

I had heard much of the overweening vanity and conceit 
of the Legitimists, but the reality far exceeded all my 
notions of them. There was no pretence, no affectation 
whatever about them; they implicitly believed that in 44 ac- 
cepting the Corsican,” as the phrase went, they were dis- 
playing a condescension and self -negation unparalleled in 
history. The tone of superiority thus assumed of course 
made them seem supremely ridiculous to my eyes, — I, who 
had sacrificed heavily enough for the empire, and yet felt 
myself amply rewarded. But apart from these exaggerated 
ideas of themselves, they were most amiable, gentle-man- 
nered, and agreeable. 

The ladies and gentlemen of what was called the 4 4 ser- 
vice ” associated all together, dining at the same table, and 
spending each evening in a handsome suite appropriated to 
themselves. Hither some one or other of the imperial family 
occasionally came to play his whist, or chat away an hour in 
pleasant gossip, — these distinguished visitors never disturb- 
ing in the slightest degree the easy tone of the society, nor 
exacting any extraordinary marks of notice or attention. 

The most frequent guest was the Archduke Louis, whose 
gayety of temperament and easy humor induced him to pass 
nearly every evening with us. He was fond of cards, but 
liked to talk away over his game, and make play merely 
subsidiary to the pleasure of conversation. As I was but 


A LOSS AND A GAIN. 


547 


an indifferent “ whister,” but a most admirable auditor, I 
was always selected to make one of his party. 

It was on one of the evenings when we were so engaged, 
and the archduke had been displaying a more than ordinary 
flow of good spirits and merriment, that a sudden lull in the 
approving laughter and a general subsidence of every mur- 
mur attracted my attention. I turned my head to see what 
had occurred, and perceived that all the company had risen, 
and were standing with eyes directed to the open door. 

“ The Archduchess, your Imperial Highness! ” whispered 
an aide-de-camp to the prince, and he immediately rose 
from the table, an example speedily followed by the others. 
I grasped my chair with one hand, and with my sword in 
the other tried to stand up, an effort which hitherto I had 
never accomplished without aid. It was all in vain, — my 
debility utterly denied the attempt. I tried again, but over- 
come by pain and weakness I was compelled to abandon the 
effort and sink down on my seat, faint and trembling. By 
this time the company had formed into a circle, leaving the 
Archduke Louis alone in the middle of the room, — I, to my 
increasing shame and confusion, being seated exactly be- 
hind where the prince stood. 

There was a hope for me still, — the archduchess might 
pass on through the rooms without my being noticed ; and 
this seemed likely enough, since she was merely proceeding 
to the apartments of the empress, and not to delay with us. 
This expectation was soon destined to be extinguished ; for, 
leaning on the arm of one of her ladies, the young princess 
came straight over to where Prince Louis stood. She said 
something in a low voice, and he turned immediately to offer 
her a chair ; and there was I seated, very pale, and very 
much shocked at my apparent rudeness. Although I had 
been presented before to the young archduchess, she had 
not seen me in the uniform of the Corps de Guides (in which 
I now served as colonel), and never recognized me. She 
therefore stared steadily at me, and turned towards her 
brother as if for explanation. 

“Don’t you know him?” said the archduke, laughing; 
“it’s Colonel de Tiernay; and if he cannot stand up, you 
certainly should be the last to find fault with him. Pray 


548 


MAURICE TIERNAY. 


sit quiet, Tiernay,” added he, pressing me down on my seat ; 
“ and if you won’t look so terrified, my sister will remember 
you.” 

“We must both be more altered than I ever expect if I 
cease to remember Monsieur de Tiernay,” said the arch- 
duchess, with a most courteous smile. Then leaning on the 
back of a chair, she bent forward and inquired after my 
health. 

There was something so strange in the situation, — a 
young, handsome girl condescending to a tone of freedom 
and intimacy with one she had seen but a couple of times, 
and from whom the difference of condition separated her by 
a gulf wide as the great ocean, — that I felt a nervous tremor 
I could not account for. Perhaps, with the tact that Roy- 
alty possesses as its own prerogative, or perhaps with mere 
womanly intuition, she saw how the interview agitated me, 
and, to change the topic, she suddenly said, — 

“I must present you to one of my ladies, Colonel de 
Tiernay, a countrywoman of your own. She already has 
heard from me the story of your noble devotion, and now 
only has to learn your name. Remember you are to sit 
still.” 

As she said this, she turned, and drawing her arm within 
that of a young lady behind her led her forward. 

“It is to this gentleman I owe my life, Mademoiselle 
d’Estelles.” 

I heard no more, nor did she either; for, faltering, she 
uttered a low, faint sigh, and fell into the arms of those 
behind her. 

“What’s this Tiernay? How is all this?” whispered 
Prince Louis ; “are you acquainted with Mademoiselle? ” 

But I forgot everything — the presence in which I stood, 
the agony of a wounded leg and all, — and with a violent 
effort sprung from my seat. Before I could approach her, 
however, she had risen from the chair, and, in a voice broken 
and interrupted, said, — 

“ Y r ou are so changed, Monsieur de Tiernay — so much 
changed — that the shock overpowered me. We became 
acquainted in the Tyrol, Madame,” said she to the princess, 
“ where Monsieur was a prisoner.” 


A LOSS AND A GAIN. 


549 


What observation the princess made in reply I could not 
hear, but I saw that Laura blushed deeply. To hide her 
awkwardness perhaps it was that she hurriedly entered into 
some account of our former intercourse, and I could observe 
that some allusion to the Prince de Conde dropped from 
her. 

“How strange, how wonderful, is all that you tell me ! 99 
said the princess, who bent forward and whispered some 
words to Prince Louis ; and then taking Laura’s arm she 
moved on, saying in a low voice, i(r Au revoir , Monsieur,” as 
she passed. 

“You are to come and drink tea in the archduchess’s 
apartments, Tiernay,” said Prince Louis ; “ you ’ll meet 
your old friend Mademoiselle d’Estelles, and of course you 
have a hundred recollections to exchange with each other.” 

The prince insisted on my accepting his arm, and, as he 
assisted me along, informed me that old Madame d’Aigreville 
had been dead about a year, leaving her niece an immense 
fortune, — at least a claim to one, — only Wanting the sanc- 
tion of the Emperor Napoleon to become valid ; for it was 
one of the estreated but not confiscated estates of La Vendee. 
Every word that dropped from the prince extinguished some 
hope within me. More beautiful than ever, her rank recog- 
nized, and in possession of a vast fortune, what chance had 
I, a poor soldier of fortune, of success ? 

“Don’t sigh, Tiernay,” said the prince, laughing ; “you ’ve 
lost a leg for us, and we must lend you a hand in return ; ” 
and with this we entered the salon of the archduchess. 


CHAPTER LIV. 


MAURICE TIERNAY’s “LAST WORD AND CONFESSION.” 

I have been very frank with my readers in these memoirs of 
my life. If I have dwelt somewhat vain-gloriously on pass- 
ing moments of success, it must be owned that I have not 
spared my vanity and self-conceit when either betrayed me 
into any excess of folly. I have neither blinked my humble 
beginnings, nor have I sought to attribute to my own merits 
those happy accidents which made me what I am. I claim 
nothing but the humble character, — a Soldier of Fortune. 
It was my intention to have told the reader somewhat more 
than these twenty odd years of my life embrace. Probably, 
too, my subsequent career, if less marked by adventure, was 
more pregnant with true views of the world and sounder 
lessons of conduct. But I have discovered to my surprise 
that these revelations have extended over a wider surface 
than I ever destined them to occupy, and already I tremble 
for the loss of that gracious attention that has been vouch- 
safed me hitherto. I will not trust myself to say how much 
regret this abstinence has cost me ; enough if I avow that 
in jotting down the past I have lived my youth over again, 
and in tracing old memories, old scenes, and old impressions, 
the smouldering fire of my heart has shot up a transient 
flame so bright as to throw a glow even over the chill of my 
old age. 

It is, after all, no small privilege to have lived and borne 
one’s part in stirring times ; to have breasted the ocean of 
life when the winds were up and the waves ran high ; to 
have mingled, however humbly, in eventful scenes, and had 
one’s share in the mighty deeds that were to become history 
afterwards. It is assuredly in such trials that humanity 
comes out best, and that the character of man displays all 
its worthiest and noblest attributes. Amid such scenes I 
began my life, and in the midst of similar ones, if my pro- 
phetic foresight deceive me not, I am like to end it. 


LAST WORD AND CONFESSION/ 


551 


Having said this much of and for myself, I am sure the 
reader will pardon me if I am not equally communicative 
with respect to another, and if I pass over the remainder of 
that interval which I spent at Komorn. Even were love- 
making — which assuredly it is not — as interesting to the 
spectator as to those engaged, I should scruple to recount 
events which delicacy should throw a veil over ; nor am I 
induced, even by the example of the wittiest periodical 
writer of the age, to make a feuilleton of my own marriage. 
Enough that I say, despite my shattered form, my want of 
fortune, my unattested pretension to rank or station, Made- 
moiselle d’Estelles accepted me, and the Emperor most 
graciously confirmed her claims to wealth, — thus making 
me one of the richest and the very happiest among the 
Soldiers of Fortune. 

The Pere Delannois, now r superior of a convent at Pisa, 
came to Komorn to perform the ceremony ; and if he could 
not altogether pardon those who had uprooted the ancient 
monarchy of France, yet he did not conceal his gratitude to 
him who had restored the church and rebuilt the altar. 

There may be some who may deem this closing abrupt, 
and who would wish for even a word about the bride, her 
bouquet, and her blushes. I cannot afford to gratify so 
laudable a curiosity ; at the same time a lurking vanity in- 
duces me to say that any one wishing to know more about 
the personnel of my wife or myself has but to look at David’s 
picture, or the engraving made from it, of the Emperor’s 
marriage. There they will find, in the left hand corner, 
partly concealed behind the Grand Duke de Berg, an officer 
of the Guides, supporting on his arm a young and very 
beautiful girl, herself a bride. If the young lady’s looks 
are turned with more interest on her companion than upon 
the gorgeous spectacle, remember that she is but a few weeks 
married. If .the soldier carry himself with less of martial 
vigor or grace, pray bear in mind that cork legs had not 
attained the perfection to which later skill has brought them. 

I have the scene stronger before me than painting can 
depict, and my eyes fill as I now behold it in my memory. 

THE END. 


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